A scourge of modern times it is, of late,

To scorn the primal essence of all life,

And so by selfish hands depreciate

Sound labors that once raised us out of strife.

The lineage of man is long and fraught

With every peril that the world bestows;

Yet measured by what other beings wrought,

Our span is but a breath in nature’s throes.

Not long ago a dreadful bottleneck

Reduced man down to scarce twelve hundred souls;

And from that crucible, through stern select,

The naked ape endured—its mettle whole.

Yet traits hard-won across that rift in time

Are cast aside now, like a worthless rind.