As the apple tree apples, God’s green earth peoples
Yet the tree is of may fruits. Man is but one.
And we’re flukes of the cosmos. A thousand monkeys
With a thousand typewriters with relative ease
After millions of years will be completely done
With the encyclopedia minus steeples.
They revert back to nonsense the moment they stop
All the waste paper buildup and slaughter of trees.
Man is just like those monkeys – a trick of nature.
We’re afraid to stop ‘typing’ for we may endure
The same fate as the monkeys, so like a disease,
And unlike those dear primates, we think we’re on top.
So, we fight like the dickens with from whence we came
To prove that we’re superior kids on the block.
Who has made this a war game – Man Versus Nature?
Never mind a damned answer. There must be a cure
For man’s constant aggression on this rugged rock.
There is nothing that man has the sole right to claim.
The male ego needs something – not total bashing.
Perhaps when that’s found out things may greatly improve.
Holding our breath while typing is not practical.
The word ‘conquest’ is locked into our rationale.
Nature always comes up with its best countermove.
How long can we put up with eternal clashing?