The Cartographer’s Folly
written by
jaron summers (c) 2025
There was a time—oh, glory be!—
When humans roamed both wild and free.
No one asked, “Whose land is this?”
We all just shared, with mutual bliss.
We passed around the sun and bread,
Slept under stars, not mortgage dread.
If someone built a hut or yurt,
We said, “Well done!” not, “Trespass—hurt!”
But then—oh curse that fateful chap!
Someone said, “Let’s draw a map.”
He squinted hard and scratched his chin,
And drew a line with ink and sin.
“This part is mine,” he proudly crowed,
“And this is yours, now hit the road.”
He colored regions pink and blue,
Claimed mountains, lakes—and oceans too.
He measured fields with greedy tape,
Declared your forest now his grape.
He built a fence, then two, then more—
Till even clouds had civil war.
Borders bloomed like mold on cheese,
Wars broke out over “rights” to trees.
We built great walls to block the breeze,
And passports just to cross for peas.
A globe once whole, now diced and diced,
Each line exact—but love’s the price.
And still we fight with flags unfurled,
For chunks of what was once our world.
So here’s a toast to ancient days,
When humans danced in untamed haze.
Before the maps, before the greed—
When “mine” was just another weed.
Let’s mourn and laugh, for what began—
With one poor schmuck, a pen, and plan.
He meant no harm, perhaps a nap…
But damned us all by drawing a map.
Fun fact: The map after the last Great War
