The Copy Cats
The green of the grass;
A trick of the light,
On a chemical process;
As bold and refined,
As if born in a laboratory.
Nature’s lab builds miracles;
no human can compete or duplicate;
still, stubborn tries.
Chloral-phonic color songs are, Gaia’s patent;
At best, the mortal, births artificial clones;
Deluding himself into believing that,
His way is best.
What fools believe;
Manifests failure.
The wise, accept gifts,
as they are bestowed and builds upon them;
Why waste time, attempting to duplicate,
when so much more, is possible.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2018
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