Evolution Comes To Its Senses

They had me standing there

Stern gazed

With a no-nonsense stare


To welcome more

Advanced species

To the Galapagos

And how all started here


How tight

Our feathered hood

The sharp extended beak

Feathered and white


Down to our blue

webbed feet

No need for tire-

some jungle lore


Swinging from trees

Jet engine fly-aways

Tickets to foreign states

Keeping that pristine glare


When they come visit

They will see how 

Global travel is done

 Quite naturally


L. Fullington

If you have any comment on this poem, L. Fullington would like to hear it.

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