Nancy Hanks dreams by the fire ; Dreams, and the logs sputter, And the yellow tongues climb. Red lines lick their way in flickers. Oh, sputter, logs.
Oh, dream, Nancy. Time now for a beautiful child. Time now for a tall man to come.
Nancy Hanks, Abraham Lincoln’s mother, sits by a fire and drifts into a dream. The poem keeps everything close and warm: the logs sputter, yellow flames climb, and red light flickers across the room. The speaker seems to be encouraging both the fire and the woman—“Oh, sputter, logs.
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