I love poetry. And today, my fingers just don’t want to fing. I have a message. It’s in my head. But as I sit to fing it out, I just can’t put a sentence to my thoughts. So today I leave you with this.
A poem, by Walt Whitman
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy and free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querelous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.
The earth that is sufficient,
I do not wnat the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.
(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)