I bequeath myself to the dirt
to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again
look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know
who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

“Song of Myself” from Leaves of Grass (1855) by Walt Whitman (1819–1892)