Why make so much fragmentary blue
In here and there a bird, or butterfly,
Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,
When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?
Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)-
Though some savants make earth include the sky;
And blue so far above us comes so high,
It only gives our wish for blue a whet.
Everything has a purpose, a place, a justification in the grand scheme of things.. Came across this beautiful poem by Frost, the beginning sounded a lot like an Emily Dickinson one.