One might think it would not matter,
A star so small-
Just a tiny blip of light, after all,
In the never-ending cosmos.
But I like to think the latter
Counts not at all-
For all great things are made up of the small,
And the painting without the strokes
Would be rather lost on the whole.
Where would the might of the ocean be,
If it were not for each single swell?
Where lies the majesty of the tree,
If not in each leafy silhouette?
Where rests the awe in deserts free,
If not upon each grain of sand?
And would the galaxies have brilliance,
If not for the glow of many single stars?