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David Boll

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Evolutionary

The thrush who flutters up into the tree
And thrills us as he settles there to sing
While falling quiet in the garden we
Admire the fervour of his trembling wing
Does it because he feels so strongly how
Enjoyable it is just letting fling -
He doesn’t know that Natural Selection
Necessitates this very predilection,

That singing tree to tree serves to outline
A holding of his own so that a mate
Attracted by his song is sure to find
A husband with a suitable estate,
His singing simply serving as a sign
That he is well set up to procreate
And his delight in singing motive for
All that when done from duty is a bore.

And so we fall to thinking of life’s aim
And wonder whether love itself is such
As we attend upon his clear refrain
And sit so close within the summer dusk
Forgetting we are foam upon a stream
To which we really do not matter much
Life being itself the aim of its existence
We but an incident in its persistence.

Although it’s true we differ from a bird
Not only in our being more pretentious
But being able to deny these crude
Compulsions if we find them too tendentious -
A thrush quite able to survive unheard
With unshared worms and habits unlicentious -
Better I think to warble on and damn
The consequence than sulk ad nauseam.

 

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