Saturday, December 3, 2011

Song of Yourself


TC said...

I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman --
I have detested you long enough.
I come to you as a spoiled child
Who has a flatulent companion;
I am old enough now to forgive.
Still; it was you that broke wind,
Now is a time for confessing.
We have one mother, stern and grave --
She alone knows we are brothers.

ACravan said...

My twisted back with the torn muscle is healing more slowly than I would like and laughing at this (both of these, actually), which are very funny, isn't helping my recovery.