I too am not a but tamed, I too am untranslatable,                                                                                                                                           

I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,

It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,

It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

After spending nearly 2 hours figuring out how to post my first blog entry I could release only a barabric yawp of relief, much like Whitman at the conclusion of Song of Myself.

Whitman, Walt. Leaves of Grass. New York, NY: Barnes and Noble, Inc., 1993.