David Pekrul | + Follow Poet |
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Daddy, What Makes Them Fly

The boy watched the plane as it rushed down the strip,
And lifted off into the sky,
He turned to his father with wonder and said,
"Daddy, what makes that aeroplane fly?"

"Well, son, it's like this, there are fine engineers,
Designers and people so wise,
Who work with true science and theories of flight,
It is them who make aeroplanes fly."

Then the boy looked around and spotted a bird,
As it flew from a tree to the sky,
He turned to his father with wonder and said,
"Daddy, who made that birdie to fly?"

"Well, no one, my son, it just happened by chance,
A million and some years ago,
In a time before airplanes or any such thing,
Just volcanoes and great lava-flows."

"A piece of green slime slithered out of a bog,
And realizing it was alive,
Decided that it would begin to develop,
In order that it could survive."

"So the slime grew some legs and finally some wings,
(Remember, this happened by chance)
It at first tripped and fell, then got up again,
It was learning to run and to prance."

"And then just like that it started to fly,
Over rivers and mountains and plains,
And the slime became monkeys, gorillas and men,
And the world was never the same."

The boy sat in silence and pondered a spell,
Then turned to his father and said,
"Didn't God make the world and the birdies that fly,
Like it says in that Bible we've read?"

"If it took a designer and fine engineers,
To make a small aeroplane fly,
Then there must be a God, a designer somewhere,
To make birdies that fly in the sky."

His Dad looked ashamed as he heard his son speak,
For he knew he was right all along,
He remembered the things he was taught while in school,
And he knew that those teachings were wrong.

For logic demands a design and a plan,
In the world in which we are livin',
And a God up above who designs out of love,
A creation for us He has given.

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