Leaves of Grass

I've been reading through Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass lately...but there is this one section that i can't move on from...i love the imagery it gives and the thoughts it conveys...I'm posting it below...So Enjoy!

A child said, What is the grass?  fetching it to me with full hands;

How could I answer the chld?...I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,

A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,

Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?

Or i guess the grass is itself a child...the produced babe of the vegetation.

Or i guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,

And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,

Growing among black folks as among white,

Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff.  I give them the same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will i use you curling grass,

It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,

It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;

It may be you are from old people and from women, and from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps...

What do you think has become of the young and old men?

And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere;

The smallest sprout shows 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.