Nature was the first, called as wild,
Living on, the beyond existence,
Extinctive roots of their lives,
Kindred perfume in their life.

To the eye, of them fossilized,
Only the suspect of how it lived,
Lasted, ended, it’s chapter, it’s myth,
Linking the bones of little minds.

Whether the bluer sky held it’s peace,
The seas of a lavish cycle more at peace.
Still feeding the earth, but in different life,
Kind of like the inhale of doting orchid.

Putting that life together again,
Only to let it only roam in our minds,
Down to the byte, but the rules changed now,
Celebrate, and toast to who has found what.

To set, seal, what is already delivered,
This is the carbon carpet, the DNA dance,
The split hybrid principle of chance,
The spirit mirage in a photograph.

©2007, Ron Globe