Chuckie Egg

I loved Chuckie Egg because it reminded me of life, With its principles which seem many when in strife, But which are few, like seven or eight, alive and well, Robust, vital and sensuous, and which you can sell. Chuckie only had eight unique levels, were repeated, They were repeated five times, with one culminated, So there were forty-one levels, all very deftly arrayed, For you to interact with, all of your dexterity displayed. Life never demands too much, with the right people, And level one let you eat all the hen feed and be feeble; It let you skip needlessly like a child playing hop-scotch, Allowing you to make mistakes and almost to botch. You were supposed to feel like Hen House Harry, useful, But sometimes I thought the caged bird related, frightful, There were ducks who stole your corn and could kill, Such that being caged was no fun, not needed, no thrill. I was not having fun in a Christian family religious, And felt like a caged bird squawking, a child rebellious; When my parents thought I was having fun at services, I just needed released from prison, such discrepancies. I quickly rose to level nine, a repeat of the first level, But the bird was loose and sometimes I him did bevel, But i was never nasty to him but enticed him sometimes, Using the elevators, purple ladders and jumps at times. The golden egg reminded me of evolution, that it took, And that every life was from a golden egg, not crook, And I worked out that “What came first, chicken or egg?” Was a creationist question and not an evolutionist peg. The black background just reminded me of outer space, Motional itself, so validating the motion of our grace; It’s not what your background is that matters or sticks, But what you do with it and impose on it, that’s the tricks.