Existential Rut

Does the mole prance
Perform interpretive dance
For an audience of voles
In his hole?

Does the ocelot
Compose verse a lot
When he should
Be hunting moles?

Does that cat complain
“Hunting mole does not
Fulfill me
Even though it surely does
Fill me?”
Does it leave him empty inside?

You and I cannot know
Because words will not flow
In mole speak or squeak
And we cannot begin
To defend or comprehend
Ocelot ethics or philosophy

We might be completely
Enthralled and amused
By our human ingenuity
Speaking man to man

But does our man art
Mean more than a fart
Or a tiny mole squat
To a bird, to a bee
Or a depressed ocelot?
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Credits: Poetry and Collage by Jay Larsen

200 years of evolution by Charles Darwin