Amazing mind, Monsieur de Buffon.
In response to your lifelong work, I imagined and came up with a reflective poem.
Anthropology
Monsieur de Buffon a vu juste.
In our understanding of life,
genes come and go.
This mechanics,
invisible,
in
symbiosis with
our home world works so
clockwork,
we,
armed with guns,
called it Eden.
But
look closer:
each double helix offers life
our planet gifts at her own pace.
We do not escape from circles.
that perpetual Wheel of the Dead
as
we dig deep
to
unravel the mysterious –
what really held statuesque heads
some ancient folk
carved inside rocks
on
an island we named Easter.
They looked at the stars just like us.
In our understanding of life,
we grow and ignore our own realm –
the meaning of breathing flowers,
too few of us call it
divine.
We cage ourselves in
skyscrapers and timetables
irrelevant to our
planet;
invent synthetic stratagems in
in the name of progress and
gold,
as
we forget the natural,
the epidermis of our Earth,
the bountiful,
the beautiful,
the divine creation in time,
life genesis in
each bird nest,
the very magic of our sun
each iris clocks in
morning light.
Monsieur de Buffon
got it right.
© Nat Hall 2024
nordicblackbird 