I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runway sun, I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love. If you want me again look for… - Walt Whitman

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

I depart as air .... I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies and drift it in 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 bootsoles.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

¿Por qué voy a empeñarme en que Dios sea otra cosa mejor que este día?

En cada hora hay algo de dios

y en cada minuto también.

Praised be the fathomless universe
For life and joy and for objects and knowledge curious;
And for love, sweet love—But praise! O praise and praise
For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding Death.

henceforth I will go celebrate any thing I see or am, And sing and laugh and deny nothing.