Carl Sandburg imagines his own death as a quiet act of solidarity. The speaker doesn’t care what happens to his body; he knows something in him—some unburiable spirit—will remain. He wants no polished monument. Instead, he gives his grave over to the lives of the poor: goats can graze the clover there, and if flowers grow, the children of the shanty people are free to pick them. That image of dirty-fisted kids gathering whatever beauty rises from his grave feels tender and a little defiant. The final lines explain the mood: he has lived among both rich and poor and made his choice, but he keeps the reason private. It’s a stubborn, earthy farewell from someone whose loyalty lies with those who have too little, and who refuses to justify that love.
Testament — Summary
I GIVE the undertakers permission to haul my body to the graveyard and to lay away all, the head, the feet, the hands, all: I know there is something left over they can not put away.
Let the nanny goats and the billy goats of the shanty people eat the clover over my grave and if any yellow hair or any blue smoke of flowers is good enough to grow over me let the dirty-fisted children of the shanty people pick these flowers.
I have had my chance to live with the people who have too much and the people who have too little and I chose one of the two and I have told no man why.