[wfranzen]

One of the other posts on this thread made me think of the following passage from a poem by Walt Whitman (I think Song of Myself from Leaves of Grass):

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work
of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and
the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.