Poetry - Whitman, Here and Now


 
Whitman tapped me on the shoulder

and told me that I needed 

to get over it.

Why is everyone so miserable,

he asked.

You have it all

and still you cry because it is 

never enough.

I looked into those old eyes

(he was right, even for a dead poet)

and made him a cup of tea.

Well now, he said,

perhaps you have made a new step.

We sipped our sencha in silence

among the leaves of grass.



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