Mr Darwin, Might I Ask You a Question?

Watching apes at Bristol zoo
I began to ponder (as you do)
On that silver thread of DNA
Connecting me to such as they.
The ancient signature in my blood
That proves that, long before the Flood,
Somewhere around the late Cretaceous
My ancestors chose the lush and spacious
Plains over the trees.

And gradually, over the years
My ancestors and their peers,
Learned to exploit flint and axes;
Invented money, war and taxes;
Created Gods like Posh’n’Becks;
Learned to drive and fax and text.
Over aeons too vast to be comprehended
Natural selection moulded and blended
And ended up with me.

I think I understand the theory
But I’m left with a niggling little query –
If evolution moulds us to nature’s plans
To meet environmental demands;
Ensures survival of the strong
Weeding out what’s weak or wrong,
The theory, surely, must be phoney
Since mothers, still, are blessed with only
One pair of hands?

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