The Terrible Mistake
On the Seventh Day,
when the Almighty should have been napping,
He paced the glassy surface of new poured sea
wringing his sculptor's hands in celestial anxiety.
A nagging tug, a vexing doubt about creation,
A nagging tug, a vexing doubt about creation,
something about creation -something obvious
and overlooked. a single lively thread, woven
in his own image in a split second of pride.
in his own image in a split second of pride.
One thread, twisting in the solar winds
unraveling slowly down the eons....
unraveling slowly down the eons....
