by adrastus Thu May 15, 2008 1:56 pm
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in the lacy jags.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass i love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot soles.
You will hardly know who i am or what i mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, and filter and fibre your blood.
Walt Whitman