THE GARDEN SUBLIME

When the Lord put me here in this heavenly sphere
	of emerald bowers,
This garden sublime, separated from time
	and temporal powers,
He constrained me to eat of the fruit that’s replete,
	flourishing around me
On trees everywhere, some common, some rare,
	and some that simply astound me!
Trees that are rife and laden with life.
	Trees that are said to enlighten,
Making me wise, and pleasing the eyes,
	my gratification to heighten.
But God said beware of the fruit that is there
	disguised by the serpentine lie,
Suggesting I eat or be incomplete.
	"If you touch it", God said, "You will die!"
I eschewed that tree with fidelity,
	content with other fruit.
I provided a name for each creature that came.
	That was my daily pursuit.
The Lord thought it could be limiting good
	for me to continue alone.
He occasioned a deep innocuous sleep
	to descend, while extracting a bone.
From the bone He proceeded to form what I needed,
	a woman, a help meet for man.
But irresolute, she partook of the fruit,
	and I acquiesced in her plan.
Completely beguiled, we both were defiled,
	and that’s when our trouble began.
God was displeased.  He could not be appeased
	by fig-leaf aprons we wore.
My lack of contrition, not naked condition,
	was the cross that He bore.
I hid from His presence my erstwhile pubescence
	among the garden’s trees.
But He called my name, and to  hide my shame
	for breaking His decrees,
I blamed my defeat on the woman, replete
	with contrition for her crime.
But the damage was done and our exile begun,
	we were barred from the garden sublime.


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