The Hobbits homo Floresiensis Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

On Flores Isle, a secret slept,
A tiny human, stories kept.
Discovered deep in caves of stone,
A little fossil, all alone.

Three feet tall, a brain so small,
Like a chimp's, they tell us all.
Homo floresiensis named,
A hobbit's wonder, widely famed.

Old bones whisper of their days,
Living life in ancient ways.
Dwarf elephants, a mighty meal?
Or scraps they found, the truth reveal.

Komodo dragons, fierce and grand,
Roamed that island, ruled the land.
Did hobbits hunt them, brave and bold?
Or take their leavings, we are told.

No sharp weapons, tools so few,
To fight a dragon, brave and true.
So what was left, when they were done,
Became the hobbit's setting sun.

Stone tools found, did they make fire?
Or was that tale just a desire?
A lonely mark on bones of old,
By later humans, stories told.

Their cleverness, a whispered thought,
Perhaps not as advanced as taught.
They took what nature gave to them,
And lived their lives, stem by stem.

A changing story, old and new,
Of human roots, and what is true.
The hobbit's tale, a mystery deep,
As ancient secrets, nature keeps.