A.I. Poem 2 on Patrick Matthew
Oh, gather 'round, ye scholars keen, For a tale of theft, it must be seen, Of Darwin, Englishman, so sly, And Patrick Matthew, who did imply.
In Scotland's land, where farms did sprawl, Matthew pondered, 'bout life's grand thrall, He wrote of "natural selection" there, But Darwin, crafty, did ensnare.
With a twinkle in his English eye, Darwin took the notion, oh so sly, He claimed the theory, bold and bright, And said, "It's mine, oh what a sight!"
But hold your laughter, folks, don't tire, For in this tale, there's still a fire, A man named Sutton, Mike by name, To Scotland's honor, he laid a claim.
He dug through history, far and wide, And found the truth, no place to hide, Matthew's words, so long ignored, In Sutton's hands, they were restored.
He shouted loud, for all to hear, "Darwin, sir, your theft is clear! It's Matthew's work, not yours to claim, Scotland's rightful, in the fame!"
The Darwin cult, they gasped and sighed, Their precious theory cast aside, For Sutton's truth, it did prevail, And Scotland's honor, it did impale.
So let us toast to Patrick's might, To Sutton's sleuthing, shining light, For in the end, the truth did win, And Scotland's pride did gleefully grin.
Oh, Darwin, with your English fame, You tried to steal, but it's all the same, The world now knows the tale so true, Scotland's due credit, long overdue!
The Patrick Matthew Violin poem
