Crutches And Canes Poem by shimon weinroth

the earth turns round
the sun comes up,
touches the ground,
the sun goes down,

the earth turns round
horizons disappear,
dark shroud of night
descends,

a million species passed this way
breathed beneath the cloak and mantle
vying for a view from everywhere
a place to be,

populations come, populations go
marking events that flow,
the river of time eats the banks
and ridges erode

cut valleys, turns into new shapes
leaving fossils, petrified forests,
flora and fauna embedded
in layers upon layers of rock and shale
residue of bones and remains

some marched off without a trace
others gasped and sighed
and never were heard,

among these multitudes there is but one
that I do know, walks erect or limps
stumbles, staggers and drags
up and down, straight and around

include the sick, the infirm, the feeble
in its quest to survive, the Atlas species
carries the wounded, tends the aged
this is its greatest triumph, perhaps only triumph

archeologists of another species
will wonder, about all the machines
science and economy, how and why
shedding our skin, when in need,

used canes and crutches