An all Walt Whitman imitation—
“Song of Myself”

1
For every atom belonging to me belongs to you.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, formed from this soil, this air,

2
The smoke of my own breath, passing of blood and air through my lungs,
The sound of the words of my voice to the eddies of the wind.

3
To elaborate is no avail, sure as the most certain sure,
I and this mystery here we stand.
Clear and sweet, the unseen is proved by the seen,
Till that becomes unseen shall I postpone my acceptation and realization.

4
These come to me days and night and go from me again,
Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am.

5
I believe in you, swiftly spread around me the peace and knowledge
And I know that the hand of God is the promise,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother,
And that creation is love, and limitless are leaves, and brown ants, and mossy scabs.

6
I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A gift bearing the owner’s name, that we may see, and say
All goes onward and outward,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

7
Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?

8
The little one sleeps in its cradle, living and buried,
I come and I depart.

9
The doors stand open and ready, and I am there.

10
You should have been with us that day.
I saw the far west and he came to my house, I heard his motions and led him in
And brought water, and gave him a room, and gave him clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well, I had him sit next me at the table.