There is beauty
Far beyond the reach of man
Light years from our grasping hands
Untouched by our feral noise
Heedless of our woes and joys
Pure, pristine, crystalline snow.
Wild roses live, and grow,
Bloom, and wither brown and die,
All without the human eye
To appraise or claim their grace
Time that does not heed our pace
Silent, sturdy trees that breathe
Life that we cannot conceive
Somewhere, far beyond our pains
There are flowers, moons, and plains,
There is beauty

– s. Clark