Poem: Walt Whitman, Miracles

“As for me, I know nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water, Or stand under the trees in the woods, Or talk by dayContinue reading “Poem: Walt Whitman, Miracles”

We are born …

We are born naked. The mother, the father if he is present in the delivery room. Also the doctor, nurses and whoever else sees us in our bare skin. A Pondering Mind would like to know why, when we die we are not buried naked? We came into the world naked, why not exit itContinue reading “We are born …”