It is not growing like a tree
In bulk doth make man better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May;
Although it fall and die that night,
It was the plant and flower of light.
In small proportions we just beauties see,
And in short measures life may perfect be.
I loved this poem as material for an embroidery project. Each small stitch is sweet and perfectly ordered. Things aren't always like that, but some moments in life can be exquisite and wonderful. To create and cherish something beautiful, however small, makes life a pleasure. I hope you enjoy the pattern - if you'd like to see more, visit me on Etsy - at Rainburst Embroidery.
