Anthrax is natural. Tobacco is natural. Heroin is natural. Poison ivy, poison hemlock, etc. are all natural. Radiation is natural.
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Hey, youāre right! We didnāt know. Thanks.
Batrachotoxin, maitotoxin, botulinum type H toxin, and tetanus toxin are all way more toxic that the most potent artificial toxin (VX nerve gas). Strychnine, Amanita phalloides, and Jimsonweed are all other fun natural options, not to mention malaria.
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Also, cyanide is a common natural product. And many plants. Here in the south, oleanders are common, and all parts of the plant are toxic.
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Donāt even get me started on pufferfishā¦
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You wouldnāt do well as a holistic med practitioner. 
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And Texas has the evil stinging Bull Nettle. I could swear that plant came over and attacked me! It hurt like hell! But if you really want poison you have to go to Australia.
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Ah, Australia, where even the mammals are venomous.
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Patient Zero
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Poetry invades Humor in Science and Theology.
Yes, it should probably go over in Pithy Quotes, where @MarkD and I and maybe a few others share poems sometimes. But this is where it fits best in context.
You guys started it with all this All Natural talk.
Terence, This is Stupid Stuff
A.E. Housman, 1896
'Terence, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There canāt be much amiss, 'tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, 'tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship ātis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.ā
Why, if 'tis dancing you would be,
Thereās brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify Godās ways to man.
Ale, man, aleās the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the worldās not.
And faith, 'tis pleasant till 'tis past:
The mischief is that 'twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck Iāve lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.
Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luckās a chance, but troubleās sure,
Iād face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
'Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
Out of a stem that scored the hand
I wrung it in a weary land.
But take it: if the smack is sour,
The better for the embittered hour;
It should do good to heart and head
When your soul is in my soulās stead;
And I will friend you, if I may,
In the dark and cloudy day.
There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all the springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as whiteās their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.
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Though the story told is that in the end he tried to kill himself by poison to avoid being captured by his enemies and couldnāt because of his built up immunity. He was over 70 at the time so he did die old.
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So, Houseman was right.
Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luckās a chance, but troubleās sure,
Iād face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
But even in that our attempts may be twarted.
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Good one, @Kendel Not quite so funny but here is one that has long amused me.
Well this might be too racy so Iāll sub out a few letters for asterisks here and hide the original under a blur if I can remember how to do it. Apart from a couple of cuss words it has an anti science stereotype which I assume most would just chuckle about and think about colleagues for whom it might fit. ā¢possible blasphemy triggers aheadā¢
While you and i have lips and voices which
are for kissing and to sing with
who cares if some oneeyed son of a b****
invents an instrument to measure spring with
Okay, that didnāt work. Iāll just link it.
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Luck is not in my active vocabulary, nor is chance. Itās nice to to have a sovereign Father who is trustworthy.
The lot is cast into the lap, but its every decision is from the Lord.
Proverbs 16:33
I understand your point but see luck and chance more loosely than you seem to. However, Houseman was not writing from a Christian perspective. I shared the poem because of natureās killing store ā all natural.
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Lots of Christians donāt share my/our perspective though.