A tough old race of ancient men,

Kin to the dynasaur,

Now return to recharge the earth

With ablutions of gore.

 

Not a tree that does not bend

To the whisper of their tread;

Not a bird of free discourse

Who is not full of dread.

 

What were cities and high-rises

Are lethal caves and grottos;

I see mammoths stomp the streets

Where used to be autos.

 

Monkeys with monster tails

Are sentinels to nations;

Creatures with elephant heads

Preside over deliberations.

 

For long did mere humanity

Enfeeble the earth;

Sapiens seem once again

To recoup a primitive birth.

 

What pride that this revolution

Should boldly portend

From a hallowed territory

Of no beginning, no end.

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