Walt Whitman Appeared in a Dream

Walt Whitman appeared in a dream tonight

In front of a mausoleum dressed in sadness

Weeping for the lost soul of America.
 

Uncle Walt! Uncle Walt! I appealed

Weave a poem of hope and restoration

Raise up heroes from the dead

Like sprigs of green in April.
 

Poor Walt, tears fell upon his hoary chin

And words slipped out of silence:

Drop your swords, America! On your forge

Forge ploughs of wheat and honey

The gentle murmurings of a tender heart.
 

Drop your guns America! Raise your arms

In prayer with thanks for all received.

Celebrate the laws of Eros    

Come to clothe and feed the cherished ones,

Feed your neighbor with the crust

And crumb of labor’s sweat.
 

Let no soul be born or die as poor

Every debt the debt of all

Every gain the gain of every other 

Even the minds of the mad say so.
 

Celebrate the common weal, remember

The body wins without division.

Heed the coo of the mourning dove

Whose mindful joy declares:  

Nothing is the end and means of life  

Nothing is its end and means.