The Baker

I am often surprised by the likes of David Attenborough who constantly refer to “nature” designing or deciding to improve particular creatures or plants. And sometimes they say that the animals themselves finding a way around a problem by mutating. (I thought mutations were supposed to be random). Anyway this ditty came to my mind this morning.
 
I didn’t bake my cake today,
It’s nature’s cake, not mine.
It’s recipe was from a book,
An accident of time.
 
Fruit grown just by natures hand,
Happened to be in store,
The flour was ground by great machines,
Hands touch the grain no more.
 
Electric mixed the eggs all in,
And heated up the stove,
That mighty power can not be seen,
Nor touched by human soul.
 
The timer bleeped, and air it cooled,
Upon the rack, the cake,
Those not seeing could ready say
No human hand did bake.
 
Give not a thought to how we’re made,
But more to who and why,
And who it is that washes up,
The mess for you and I.
 
 
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