Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman and Pamela Dalton

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 heave,

And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,

And the cow crunching with dpressed head surpasses any stature,

And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels,

And I could come every afternoon of my life to look at the farmer's girl boiling

her iron tea-kettle and baking shortcake.

                                              --Walt Whitman

                                                                                             From Katherine Patterson's Giving Thanks