It baffles me to no end                                                                                                                                            To think that you prefer to bury your head,                                                                                                            Ostrich-fashion, in the sand                                                                                                                                     And allow to pass you by                                                                                                                                         The beauties of Creation:                                                                                                                                        Limbs germinating back to life                                                                                                                                 From amputated or non-existent members;                                                                                                            The routine expulsion                                                                                                                                              Of miniature legacy of mankind from its cocoon;                                                                                                      The proud display of colourful petals                                                                                                                       As pods in total surrender                                                                                                                                       To a superior command                                                                                                                                           Vomit their bowels’ contents to the ambience.