What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere… - Walt Whitman

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death;
And if ever there was, it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward — nothing collapses;
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death.

I announce adhesiveness-I say it shall be limitless, unloosen'd;
I say you shall yet find the friend you were looking for.

The city sleeps and the country sleeps,
The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time,
The old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband
sleeps by his wife;
And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them,
And such as it is to be of these more or less I am,
And of these one and all I weave the song of myself.

I believe in the flesh and the appetites;
Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch’d from;
The scent of these arm-pits, aroma finer than prayer;
This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.