Another challenge poem, this time to write something containing the words Penguin, Genesis, Yard, Berry, and Energy. I'll probably be excommunicated for this one.

‘Twas the night before Genesis, all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
For mice hadn’t yet been invented you see,
In fact in the house you could find only three.

A Dad, and His son, and a spirit of sorts.
An iota of difference? There’re different thoughts!
But back to the story of just how things were made,
and the role in the outcome, that each of them played.

The Dad had been working, as dads have to do
Sawing and nailing and sticking with glue.
For six lonely days He’d been working quite hard
And now His creation stood proud in the yard

A universe, sprinkled with planets and stars
And out on the left edge this planet of ours
But now, on the seventh, his energy drained
To the others He gently, but firmly complained

“Look lads, I’m quite knackered, could you lend a hand?
And come up with something to fill up the land?
Start out quite simply, I’m sure that is best,
a tree with a berry where birds feed and nest.”

They looked at each other, the ghost and the son
And turning to Him said, ”Consider it done”
So off to the workshop they scampered, excited.
Some grandiose schemes in their thoughts He’d ignited.

But then once inside all their troubles began
For they’d never bothered to study His plan.
And though, whilst approaching the task set with zeal
You just wouldn’t credit some things they made real.

A baobab tree, with its roots on its head
And a thing with no teeth, but a duck’s bill instead
The tree with the berry had worked out OK
But then with the bird they’d decided to play

With both of them pressing the buttons and switches
The creation machinery was bound to have glitches
Through smoke, and bright lights, and the sound of a horn
That thing that we now call a Penguin was born

They looked at each other, and looked at the bird
And out in the yard their mad laughter was heard
Their Dad, sighing softly, closed up his good book
Deciding that He’d better go take a look.

Oh Me! Give me strength! Said the Dad when He saw
The mess on the tables, the worktop, the floor.
And dotted around were the things that they’d made
But His eyes from the black and white bird hadn’t strayed

“What in My name is this thing you’ve got here?
It looks like a bird but without all the gear.
They’re s’posed to have wings, not webbed feet and flippers
You’ll be telling me next that it eats only kippers.”

“Not quite” said the son, trying vainly to joke
“They can’t light a fire so they won’t have the smoke.”
“ENOUGH” said his Dad, “I just can’t trust you pair.
While I sort this out you just stand over there”

He had an idea in the back of his mind
To deal with mistakes of exactly this kind
“I’ll hide all these oddments where Man will not go
Some in the deserts and some in the snow.”

And now that we travel all over the earth
We’re gradually finding these objects of mirth.
But still from that day, have we yet found them all?
The one day that God took his eye off the ball.