Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower—but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.
by Alfred Lord Tennyson 1863
A poem of marginal nature. However, I leave the plants in the crannies and try to comprehend them in place.
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