Perhaps some divine force did
Create us and all we know,
With gentle, monstrous hands
One such being did forge 
The rudimentary and crude
Beginnings of life, planted
The first vivacious seedlings,
The Earth a gargantuan plot
With infinite possibility. 
But after this implantation,
The in-vitro fertilisation
That creationism does so oppose,
God, or whoever they suppose
Was the meddling scientist, 
The author of this wonderful
And unprecedented success,
Lost any sense of control.
For Earth, the mammoth playground
Of genes and procreation
Spurted forth organisms
With exponential celerity
That could explore, create
And evolve at once
Far more beautifully and terribly
Than any great mind could conceive of. 
And so the birth of life, 
Whatever stellar or mythic origins,
Was quickly forgotten
As natural selection, free
From divine intervention,
Ran its course in leaps and bounds, 
Spawning creations more wonderful
For their mixing of genes and wild growth
Than ever could be imagined
In perfect creationism.
Nature doesn’t do perfection,
Nature perfects through adaptation;
Perfect is never perfect,
Even the animals know that.
By YouthfulParaphernalia.wordpress.com

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