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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