A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


Unwittingly culled by Darwin's law,
Has evolution's shortest straw
Been drawn by us, this human kind?
What refinement can we find?

Not the cheetah's speed and grace,
Or sloth like need for sluggish pace,
Not possessed of dreadful bite
In shark or crocodile that might

Ensure our survival.

Yet nature has not met its match,
An egg or plot it couldn't hatch.
The fittest of us then, will thrive.
The question is, how to arrive

At what this definition means
In terms of workers, kings and queens,
Drones and soldiers, you and me.
Where's the edge to guarantee,

Ensure our survival?

We can't escape rule number one
For all that live beneath the sun,
And yet create monopolies
That suffocate metropolis,

But social skill and etiquette
Will serve us well, and thus collect
The brownie points we sorely need
To not be cut down like a weed,

Ensuring our survival.

Mr Jones across the road,
With brand new windows, his abode
Is always clean and prim and trim.
Maybe I'll look up to him

In showing us the forward way,
So - spick at night and span by day,
The secret of enduring bones is
Keeping up with all the Joneses,

Ensuring our survival.

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