Neil was in the cave again.
The one he thought no one would find.
He opened up his bag of bits,
And at some rocks began to grind.
When he had ground enough to start,
He mixed the powder with some spit.
He found a good space on the wall,
And moved some rocks on which to sit.
This one would be his masterpiece,
The biggest and the best.
The image in his mind complex.
To get it right would be a test.
He spared a thought for all his friends,
Who spent their spare time scraping skins.
While he was breaking ground with art,
They were out there knapping flints.
He dipped a finger in the paint,
Then smeared it on the rugged rock.
He hoped that he had brought enough,
And glanced across to check his stock.
The hours passed without remark.
Working slowly without pause.
Then stepping back to take it in,
And see if there were any flaws.
Once done he sat down by his fire.
He stared in to the dancing flames.
He hummed and nodded rhythmically,
Until prophetic visions came.
He saw the rise of many tribes,
That came and went each passing age.
They lived and loved and fought and died,
And learned to build impressive caves.
Then in one bright flat massive cave,
Upon whose walls much art was shown,
A crowd was gathered at one place,
To see the work that was his own.
Neil was startled from his trance,
Then to himself did chortle,
He broadly smiled and said out loud,
'I am become the first immortal.'