Song of myself1.I am here, in the now. I see all; I am the blade of grass, lost in a flowing meadow of grain. I am drift in the sea and sing this song of myself. The world passes by, a freight train on the tracks to nowhere, never stopping to admire the roses, never turning back to reflect upon the past. I am the passenger, the man waiting, in a tattered grey hat, plaid overcoat and scuffed loafers. The train arrives but I do not get on.2.Different colored souls surround me, some black like the blackest wood on a chilly December night, others bright as the drops of morning mountain dew on a blade of grass. I am without my soul as a bird is wit
Sta.sh
