Thursday, March 11, 2010

Ode to Whitman, Walt


He stands enthralled
Above a boulevard of life
Where matter counts;
The count does not.

Where the altered complexions
Of the seasons skies
Seem as his people:
Strolling, searching, striving.

Where he turns his back
To the glistening river running,
Calling to the world
In notes of silver and gold.

He keeps his verdant post,
A marker of beauty,
A marker of truth
Where the Gods would be green.

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