Genesis
One sunny morning, strolling in my garden.
I stumbled, and my foot crushed something’s head.
"Me dammit!" I exclaimed, “I beg your pardon”,
Looked down, and saw my Serpent lying dead.
This Serpent was supposed to tempt the couple
With luscious fruit that Eden's trees bedecks;
My chosen agent, sinuous and supple,
Would lead the pair to knowledge - and to sex.
Omniscience can have its limitations,
And even Godly schemes may gang agley.
I'd once envisaged teeming populations,
But this, perhaps, was better, in its way.
No guns, no bullets, no demented shooters,
Since nothing could be made, except of wood;
No mobile phones (thank Me!) and no computers ...
I looked on all of this, and found it good.
Yet what of those who should have lived hereafter?
No Homer, Shakespeare, Mozart, Botticelli?
No P. G. Wodehouse? (I was fond of laughter,
Though, being God, I didn’t have a belly).
Descendants all, but only if they had ’em.
(No Michelangelo, no Sistine Chapel?)
My mind made up, I beckoned Eve and Adam:
“I wondered if you’d care to try an apple?”
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