Reconciliation
–Walt Whitman
Word over all, beautiful as the sky,
Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage must in time be
utterly lost,
That the hands of the sister Death and Night incessantly
softly wash again, and
ever again, this soil’d world;
For my enemy is head, a man divine as myself is dead,
I look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin — I draw
near,
Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in
the coffin.
