The Inheritors. Poem by ivor or ivor.e hogg

A silent world where no bird sings
A world devoid of living things.
Only the fittest could survive.
The Roaches adapted and still thrive.
The human race has long since died.
Killed by their overweening pride
Although they thought they were the best
they are as dead as all the rest.
Ignoring Mother Natures rule
a race of self destructive fools.
They meddled with and altered genes.
Creating hybrid in betweens.
The end result is as you see.
Cockroaches rule triumphantly.

29/10/2009
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