The greatest mystery of all must be
How Cosmos made up creatures such as we,
Or even simple atoms, for that matter,
And everything along the Great Chain’s ladder.
Whence comes this urge toward more complex design
That eons after eons still refine
Until we come along who can applaud
What seems to us the work of some great God?
Some intellect that we personify
In our own image, living in the sky,
Appears to be the cause of all we know,
Or so our ancient tales and fables show.
Does any new cosmology explain
The covert provenance of our own brain?