Wednesday, December 24, 2008



Some sixty thousand years ago
In a cave beneath the sun,
A Neanderthal lived whom we now know
By the label Shanidar I.

It seems that when poor “Nandy” died
At the ripe old age of forty,
The victim of a huge rock slide,
He’d never quite been sporty.

His right leg had been pretty lame,
And adding to his charm,
His left leg was about the same,
And he’d lost his right arm.

An injury to his skull left
His left eye nearly blind.
This ancient man was as bereft
Of hope as you could find.

And yet, the members of his tribe
With him their food had shared.
To charity we now ascribe
The way these people cared.

Was Neanderthal charity,
That kept this man alive,
A weakness that, in history,
Meant they would not survive?

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