Today is Walt Whitman’s birthday, he was born in 1819.
Whitman was a poetry man, I am not.
I know, I’m a Philistine in that area.
But, the man had talent, so I’ll honor him anyway!
Most of his poems are longer than my blog posts, this one is not!
A noiseless, patient spider,
I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;
Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;
Ever unreeling them – ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
Carelessly musing, venturing, throwing, – seeking the spheres, to connect them;
Till the bridge you will need, be form’d – till the ductile anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.