I love poetry. It resurrects the truth and rhythm of life in a way that enriches all who read it. This morning, I read a wonderful poem by 19th century American poet Walt Whitman. Its very title lures you in, “There Was a Child Went Forth.” The opening lines captured me and compelled me to read more
There was a child went forth every day.
And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
I reflect on the eight days in March I spent in Haiti. I recall a very young mother washing her child as I walked through the streets of Cité Soleil. As I read Walt Whitman’s poem, I wonder what the first object that young child opened her eyes to.