“I think that I shall never see”
a tree thin as phylogeny,

looks poor, no fruits nor leaves for tea,
Yet means so much as Darwins see.

rooted, unrooted, a weird tree,
well, Nature, too, selects weirdly.

No other tree much affects me,
keeps changing my taxonomy,

splitting-lumping, lumping-splitting,
because more data keep coming.

“Poems are made by fools like” you,
but cladograms, don’t make me blue.