The sea lay still, for much of it was dead,
Tho’ in its depths, the Kraken’s children bred
And fed, as they have done since time was cast,
While on the land the age of men had passed.
A little late, as always, the Creator
Arrived, and spun the world by its equator,
Reversed its entropy and architecture,
And called apprenticed angels down to lecture:
Oh dear, oh dear. A pretty planet, too.
I never could repeat that shade of blue;
I see their hands worked faster than their brains,
Subordinating Abels to the Cains.
Well, well; a touch more awe, and less of spite,
And with some luck, this time we’ll get it right—
No poet can be pleased with every rhyme.
Let’s try again; perhaps one thumb, this time?’