Upon the Eighth Day
He'd made the world, the flowers the trees,
invented weather, the rain and the breeze.
The fowls of the air, the fish in the sea,
the beasts of the Earth, the ancestors of we.
He'd made the streams, the rivers and lakes,
then, as if to prove He had what it takes,
He wrought great mountains with his bare hands,
mighty oceans and deserts and forested lands.
Then, upon the eighth day, He rested and thought,
I'll make some mischief, I'll have a bit of sport.
So He sat at his workbench and toiled through the night,
cutting and pasting until dawns early light.
At last He sat back with pride and admiration
at the thing He’d unleash upon every new nation.
This'll teach them humility and not to take for granted
their Eden on Earth and all the lushness that I've planted.
He took his creation and injected some spite,
selfish greed and the inability to know wrong from right.
A dash of duplicity and then, for good measure,
a penchant for hoarding and hiding their treasure.
He sat back with a smugness and smirk of one who knows,
and exclaimed, "This little beggar should keep em on their toes!
Along with pestilence and wars this'll teach em contrition."
That's when God gave the world its first politician.
Copyright © John Jones | Year Posted 2020
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