We’ve been cursed by our own good looks,
Since the scientist Charles Robert Darwin
Hunted us for one of his books.
He’d captured a blue footed booby
And a tortoise of marvellous age.
He’d tracked down a kind of a dragon,
But he couldn’t get us in a cage.
We hid where he never would find us,
All eight of the family Weird,
While the Beagle sailed over the ocean,
We were on it, in Charles Darwin’s beard.
Poem ©2013 Kathryn Evans
Illustrations ©2013 Paul Morton