Whitman, Hoyden Style

"a child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
how could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of the hopeful green stuff woven...

and now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves...

they are alive and well somewhere,

the smallest sprout shows there really is no death,

and if ever there it was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,

and ceas'd the moment life appear'd.

All goes onward and ourward, nothing collapses,

and to die is different than any one supposed, and luckier."

~walt whitman Leaves of Grass~