I sing the song of social networking.
I give you my farmlands, my isle vast with riches,
my mafia more precious than money.
Behold! I will post that I like it on the staircase,
the desk, the floor next to the bed;
I will leave you puzzled, bewildered, enraged, perhaps turned on.
You will not know what I mean.
The game is over; yet for me never over:
For me it remains a memory and meaning wondrous mystical.
The jubilant cry from the flowering thorn to the flowerless willow,
“like, like, like.”
I, Walt Whitman, approve of your status update.
O Facebook! O Virtual city!
Land of delight, fertility, promise, and cut-and-pasted platitudes!
When I beheld thee my soul was enthrall’d, and danced a spiritual watusi.
O, gloria! Triumph! Yawp! Hosannah! LOL!