According to Darwin,

I will go far when,

My senses are sharpened,

And honed to survive.

Gills underwater.

Birth son or daughter.

Avoiding the slaughter,

I will stay alive.

Blend in the background,

So that I’m not found.

They can look all round,

But still I will thrive.

Top of the food chain,

That’s where I’ll remain,

Using my big brain,

And using my knives.

Until a bee sticks,

It’s stinger in and pricks.

Anaphylactic.

Now I will die.