Dear Walt Whitman, on your 200th Birthday, some words back atcha:
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
… 200 years old and as alive today — your atoms and your words still among us — as when, in your body, you lived and loved. Thank you for the many times you have led me to recognize joy in this life, the words you paint on the canvas of visceral connection to Everything, your spirit transcending time, across generations. Today I will close my eyes, take a ride on the Brooklyn Ferry and give you a hug.