Evolution’s Angel

In the darkness
He held her
I know what he said
But he held her just the same
He was her Dad

Her tiny fevered hand
Wracked and flailing
Touched the human in him
And for a moment
Longer than all the ages
The evolution of the species
Became a matter for other men
Dead men
With nothing better to do
Than bicker

And in the ensuing silence
After the fires were spent
In the long hours of a cold dawn
He wept . . .
he wept . . .

Darwin’s daughter died in his arms
and the whole Victorian lie of Scientific Detachment must have come crumbling down

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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