Friday, October 26, 2012




We are all manipulated
Mother nature pulls the strings.
Her plans for all creation
Are from where each instinct springs.
We look at this little puppy,
And ooh and aah a bit
Without even considering

Why we are doing it.
Reproduction is the answer!
The species must go on.
Unless we all have offspring
All hope for the future's gone.
When human mothers gaze upon
Their newly delivered child
They are utterly mesmerised,

Deliriously beguiled.
A newborn's rarely beautiful;
In fact it's often weird,
And yet it has to be cosseted
Doted upon and reared.
So nature works it's magic;
Instinct comes to the fore.

Mother-love overwhelms us
As its done in days of yore.
There's something about the features,
Especially the eyes.
The proportions are exquisite
And utterly mesmerise.

Now look at this puppy......
How beguiling is that face!
We ooh and aah because we must
On behalf of the human race.
The proportions are the same ones
That we've gazed on in the cot.
'Dear little baby girl!' we say.
We're following Nature's plot.


Without having any concrete proof
I'm pretty sure that, painting a roof,
You'd paint it bright and showy red;
Not some other hue instead.
A house that's painted by a child,
And by imagination styled,
Will always be a scarlet shade,
For, after all that's how roofs are made.
I wonder who began the craze
Which certainly wasn't just a phase,
For, after all, as years go by,
We still see them pointing to the sky.
Sometimes we'll see a black or blue
Atop a house that's very new
But, on the whole, it must be said
That a roof is nearly always red. 
Maybe the tiles that first were laid
Were of the local clay-pits shade
And, after a while, the people said
'A roof? Of course it must be red.'
Van Gogh, Cezanne, they all agreed
'A bright red roof is what we need.'

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