Carl Sandburg’s speaker looks out across ten miles of flat, salty coast where the water is harsh enough to kill sweet potatoes. It sounds barren, but it is home to sandpipers. Their tiny feet leave script-like tracks on the wet sand—writing in the morning that disappears by noon, then writing again at noon only to have it vanish by night. The mood is quiet and watchful, touched by loss. The speaker says to pity the land, the sea, and the whole flat expanse—but not the sandpiper’s wire-thin legs and feet. Those delicate legs seem fragile, yet they belong to this shifting world and need no pity. The poem contrasts the land’s barrenness with the sandpipers’ light, untroubled movement, leaving a sense of admiration for creatures that live without leaving a lasting mark.
Sandpipers — Summary
Ten miles of flat land along the sea. Sandland where the salt water kills the sweet potatoes. Homes for sandpipers — the script of their feet is on the sea shingles — they write in the morning, it is gone at noon — they write at noon, it is gone at night. Pity the land, the sea, the ten mile flats, pity anything but the sandpiper's wire legs and feet.