Whitman's love of all things doesn't drive me.
I once thought my own life's joy'd not survive me,
But finding no joy in my life or in things
Led me to knew ways to greet what life brings.
Instead of just hoping or trying to fight,
I'd expect the worst, be well-startled or right.
Mistreated by people? Go places without them,
Find joy in the green in the shade-trees on mountains.
Hunt me down? Bring me back? Lock me in? Well what then?
I'll just hide under books or my paper and pen.
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