The First Words Given to My Brother's Son

For Stone:

You have many fathers and mothers,

And you will never be alone.

Do not fall in with those who look to the Heavens,

Keep your eyes planted in the Earth.

Prepare for the day your brother's sons come to you,

Seeking God, and ask them:

Do you not see my face?

Do you not feel my hands?

Your father was a gardener,

Who pulled you from the ground with much toiling.

He chose your grandfather's name for you

And for your mother,

Who taught us to live upon the Earth a while,

To eat what comes from the ground,

Taking pain and pleasure together,

Concerned more for life to be than lives to come. 

Walk with us upon this solid kingdom,

Where living is no more nor less than dying.

Know Whitman, Blake, and Ginsberg;

Grow mushrooms, vines, and grass.

And when you grow tired,

Find your fathers and mothers here with me,

Resting awhile in the sod,

Safely in the mines of god.