(for Ken Roberts)

We all know the story of Noah
who went to sea in the Ark.
In the history of human endeavour
he's certainly left his mark.

But what isn't known is the journey he made
by which he kept his word,
saving poor creatures from the likes of us,
long after the famous flood.

He took his ship from the Middle East
by the Mediterranean Sea
then across the North Atlantic
to the estuary of the Dee.

And there by Hilbre Island,
close to the Wirrel shore,
Noah dropped anchor and waited
just as he had before.

So the animals came in two by two,
both male and female together,
of every size and every shape,
by fur, by scale or feather.

The mammoth and the dodo
soon passed the giant sloth,
while the passenger pigeon flew far above
as it followed the sabre-tooth.

There were one or two from England,
the beaver and the bear,
and even the wolf from Scotland,
and the Irish elk was there.

Then came the Tasmanian devil,
and the great auk from the North,
the moa bird, the quagga,
as now the line stretched forth.

There were many had never been studied,
and no-one knew their names,
but the air was thick with flying things,
half damaged, scorched by flames.

And more and more, of every sort
until the ship was full,
and Noah said, It's time to give
the anchor one last pull.

In the wake of the boat the sea was alive,
a grey whale at its head,
and every shoal was ready to go
wherever Noah led.

All those assembled, great or small,
stood proud in the wind and rain,
as the Ark sailed out on the ocean
and was never seen again.

written 28/5/07

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