A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . . I do not know what it
is any more than he …

The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.

All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
luckier.

Walt Whitman

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