Concestadors
Just think, there once was a couple like us,
Some ten or twelve thousand-odd years ago,
Who looked on their children and started to suss
How far might their progeny grow –
From out of their children would flow ev’ry nation,
All wandering further with each generation,
Till ev’ry damn human alive in creation
Is each one a cousin – we’re kinfolk, you know.
From Kenya and Fiji and Rome and Nepal,
Through love, rape and conquest, each fam’ly propels –
They’re mother to each and they’re father to all,
They’re filling our veins and our cells.
Their dynasty, you and me, thoroughly blended –
They’re either to ev’ry- or no-one descended.
And could it be, thousands of years on, portended
That we shall be flowing through ev’ryone else ?
A concestor is the last common ancestor.
Rhyming Couplets 