In the heart of Brooklyn, a poet was born,
With words like rivers, his verses adorned.
He sang of the people, the land, and the sea,
A bard of democracy, wild and free.
Through bustling streets and fields so wide,
He captured the spirit, the nation’s pride.
Leaves of Grass, his legacy’s name,
Whispering truths, igniting the flame.
In times of war and peace serene,
Whitmanâs pen painted scenes unseen.
He walked with soldiers, felt their strife,
Chronicling the ebb and flow of life.
His soul transcended the earthly bound,
In every verse, his essence found.
Walt Whitman, a voice so grand,
Forever etched in the heart of the land.