I forget its beginning perhaps first found in The Origin of the Species or that strange story I read as a youth of the unknown naturalist–fiddler wading through that field of flowers scientifically concluding in his heart while evolution was still evolving that each creature unto itself is its own species Perhaps the same man who despaired at helping a butterfly to its death unrealized without allowing it fight out of its self–made cocoon to discover its own strength The poets may take for granted your beauty taking you for something perennially special The botanists may catalog your delicate reproducible features The sellers may know what price you command at the market by your heritage You grow beyond these interlopers your very bothersome incommodality is that prize secret hidden in your bud Your uncouth break from tradition turns intellect superstitious renders traits broken and molted The world rotates upon your axis seen afresh through your aspect With a joyful pain the world births itself anew The mysterious law of your specific genes hums a song composed in situ This is what the world is dying to see Your nature is wild, naturally