Whitman’s Hymn

….the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.  (Walt Whitman)



And where are you now

my frolicsome friend,

under my boot-heels

    in grass?


I know.  You said.

You’d always be there,

in the leaf of a page,

    turning fast.


Teaching while turning,

coy-fully punning;

thou wert of teachers, the teacher,

    the best.


Mockingly manning,

feminine panning,

from New York, to the South,

    and out West.


Of heavenly bodies

the astronomer speaking;

the blather, the babble, the blab

     of the streets,


my teacher lovingly


Atom to atom, a spear of sparse grass,

gone, but good help,

    none the less.


The hawk that you met,

the places you slept,

the ferry you crossed –

    all left!


Gone!  Gone!

But still here in song;

my teacher, my friend,

‘till my life, too, ends.


Oh teacher! who wove

leaves of grass.




revised 6 May 2013

©2013, Marvin Loyd Welborn


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