The Descent of Homo Geologensis.

Here, where the world is quiet;
Here, where all noise seems
Lost in the faint, far riot
Of faulting on old rock seams.
I hear a low voice sowing
Some germs, of vague half-knowing
Of earth and life agrowing,
And all the work of streams.

We've deserted the old top story,
For greywacke's cold embrace;
Among annelids and sauri
Ans left in life's long race.
My abode to the world declares
How I'm weary of climbing stairs :
Like Neanderthal men to their lairs,
I return to the old rock face.

Thus from on high descending
In a shower of graptolites
And crystals never ending,
Like monstrous meteorites,
The sun god we've deserted :
Geology's asserted
It's claims; we have reverted
Back to the argilites.

—R.