And yet, in each human coupling, a thousand million sperm vie for a single egg. Multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; siring this precise son; that exact daughte? Until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that union, of the thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you, that emerged. To distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbability, like turning air to gol? that is the crowning unlikelihood. The thermo-dynamic miracle.
Suicide in the trenches: I knew a simple soldier boy. Who grinned at life in empty joy, Slept soundly through the lonesome dark, And whistled early with the lark. In winter trenches, cowed and glum. With crumps and lice and lack of rum, He put a bullet through his brain. No one spoke of him again. * * * * *You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye. Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you'll never know. The hell where youth and laughter go.