ShadowedAcolyte

An ant ascended the first time from his hole and saw nothing but gray, the earth and its mysteries obscured behind a fog. "Surely my tunnels are all the world," said he, and returned underground, and thought no more of it. And this is man a hundred fold! This is man, and this is me. I speak of The Big Picture as what I see in a mirror or a microscope; I know only myself and the merest fraction of knowledge there is to be known. The grand tapestry of plans within plans was not revealed to me, I see one circumstance and declare "life is misery," determined to miss the splendor of a thousand miles of forest for the decay of a sin

Give me the weeds; The yellow-gold of dandelion heads, And their fluffy clocks The sky shades of forget-me-nots and cornflowers. Give me the blood red poppies and pimpernels, The dasies to make chains, The buttercups (because you know I like butter) the prickly lilac thistles, and many, many, others- All of the flowers that grow in adversity, Those unwanted ones frowned upon by the gardener, Give me those in a posy To make them and make me feel wanted.