In the darkness of the night,
a camp fire glows, yellow, orange, bright,
around it sit people who we now describe,
as together, having formed a tribe,
and as they roast their latest kill,
enough this time to eat their fill,
the father figure of them all,
begins to reminisce, yes, to recall,
stories of great deeds that he,
has stored within the recesses of his memory.
And through passing millennia it was thus done,
tribal histories passed from father to son,
until the populations of tribes had grown,
and many different stories had come to be known.
Then there came the great idea to draw,
depictions of what each day they saw,
when hunting the animals they needed to stay alive,
they recorded each species which then, did thrive,
painted on cave roof and wall,
wondrous visions which still enthral!
Change came slowly from this time, and,
populations moved to find new land,
so they could ensure their survival,
looking for space without any rival
tribes competing for scarce resources,
life was hard with Mother Nature's forces,
stacked against this new species, who,
compared to Earth's history, was brand new.
Successful tribes began to grow,
and with life experience they came to know,
that the hunter gatherer way of living,
was particularly hard, and unforgiving,
and that for their populations to expand,
they had to find new ways to exploit the land.
So from this point, change came faster,
sometimes punctuated by a natural disaster,
but change it did, and before too long,
they built settlements that were big, and strong,
on land from which they now knew,
the kind of crops from the soil best grew.