“When nature is the sculptor...”
“When nature is the sculptor,” you get surprising art.
For she excels at fitting in, and balance plays a part.
Sometimes you’ll see things multiplied, to four or even five.
But at its core you’ll always find, a pair keeps it alive.
You’ll never find a single thing, those unicorns are rare.
For nature likes things doubled up, there’s strength in hiding there.
A thing alone will not last long, it seeks to find another,
In all the world it will be lost, if it can’t find its brother.
Nature doesn’t care, you see, about those strange proportions.
If there’s a niche to fill, it will, no matter the contortions.
For that is how we got giraffe, and hippopotami,
And hummingbirds, and butterflies, and duck-billed platypi.
Nature doesn’t care about what we call beautiful.
For all she needs is something that is not impossible.
We’ll round the edges off in future generations,
Until they’re so successful they will be our new sensations.
And has nature had a hand in what we see as so befitting?
I think we would be stranger still if we had done the knitting.
For why do we have hair up there and not defensive horn?
And why not have a tail with us to be our prickling thorn?
If we had been in charge of what we all have come to be,
I think it’s clear that all will have to see what I can see.
Our choices would have changed us into quite a frightful show,
Whatever kept us from this path? The Devil if I know!
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . February 22, 2004