And as to me, I know nothing else but miracles - Walt Whitman

If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good help to you nevertheless
And filter and fiber your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop some where waiting for you

Give me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full-dazzling!

Like a stone dropped into a pond, an article of that sort may spread out its concentric circles of consequences.