The maker of the world, when tall he stood,
When the canvas and his imagination lay bare,
Did he gaze confidently, or did he blankly stare?
Was his brush smooth, or did he brood?
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When he made, the rivers deep, and mountains high,
The forests dense, the tides of the seas,
Did he put the tiger in the forest, snakes, hives and bees?
And put sharks in the sea and vultures in the sky?
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And as he made the bare woman form,
Making her legs long and arms, slender,
Was it he who filled her *****,
And made her instinct raw, and body tender?
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And while making man, his final masterpiece,
Who gave curiosity to the chosen one?
Which led him to war as well as peace,
The gift that made homes, and also made the gun?
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To make them live as one, mankind,
All the bodies were by his brush equal, drawn,
Who then, but gave man the power of mind,
Making some live as kings, while others as pawns?
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And indeed, does he sometimes in quiet, smile?
As man scales the mountains and conquers the Nile,
Or does he heave a sigh, in agony and pain?
As justice doesn't dawn and fear still reigns?