Stomp, rumble, thump, roar!

Overhead pterodactyls soar!

Jurassic, Triassic, Cretaceous,

Iguanodon, Protoceratops, Diplodocus.

A flood washed these creatures away,

Preserving their bones for a future day,

Buried for years in the sludge of obscurity,

Often mistaken for mystical beasts of fantasy,

Until Richard Owen uttered “Dinosauria”

And ushered in a great scientific era.

 

Paleontologists pounded their chisels in lands unknown,

Unraveling the long-lost history etched in stone,

Packed, coated, and shipped to hundreds of museums

To be studied as if they held the key to all our problems.

But it seemed as if the more they studied, the less they knew,

And the deeper, thicker, longer their lies grew.

When they look at these bones, they see billions of years,

Big bangs and extinctions caused by meteors.

They think drawing a feather on these large lizards

Can make them the ancestors of the buzzards.

 

When I look at these bones, I see the beginning

And six twenty-four hour days of creating,

Instantly formed by a single word

From the mighty Lord of lords.

I see a mural of a great Artist’s creativity,

Every inch of it displaying His ingenuity.

 

I wonder, how can anyone look at a dinosaur

And not see each letter of the Creator’s signature?

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