That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.”
― Walt Whitman
What kind of verse have I begun to contribute to life? Has my life been a limerick with a few double entendres? How about a sonnet that expresses a romantic love for a nameless other? Shall my life be a haiku short and sweet with memory that lingers on. Tho I guess it would seem silly to wonder about form rather than content. I suppose than that my verse will have depth but not read by many. Of course the ability to contribute and to feel I have and will be read and felt by someone else satisfies my being.
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