The Race Is To the Swift
Long life is not in God's great gift,
According to the Alpine swift –
We've had its genes out for a sift
And found that, if we catch their drift,
We'll live forever.
Research should make us last with ease
For several hundred centuries.
Methusaleh, move over, please:
A thousand years should be a breeze
With swift endeavour.
The pensioner will, centre-stage,
Call youth what we call middle-age,
Turn history by book, not page,
Take years to pay a sinner's wage,
Or even, never.
Yes, ageing – men and women, both –
A horde will swear a millennial oath,
And time will pass them like a sloth.
Hmmm. What of population growth?
Not so clever.
