Good morning Adam and Eve
I’ve come to visit my garden
Full of glowing and growing good things
Things living and wonderfully made
How have they thrived?
How have they spread?
What are the yields and the quality?
How does my garden grow?
I seem to not be able to find you
Among the thistles and thorns
The weeds and the undergrowth
And why are my fields of green beneath
Those ribbons of asphalt that stretch
Across my valleys plains and hills
There are concrete and steel towers
Obstructing my azure skies and white clouds
And crowding out the trees for my birds
My waterways appear sullied and torpid
No longer clear and pure for my sea life
And the very air smells foul
The birds avoid its noxiousness
My mountains you seem to have cropped
To claw at their bitumen seams
Your ‘fracking’ cracked my earth
You even drilled beneath the oceans
Sucking up the oils which lube my planet
The winds I designed for each season
Have been tampered with somehow
I pity the one who must explain all this
As before my throne he shall have a say
Why, I can find no fine fruit in my orchards
I detect a strange modification to them
And their very vitality is gone
Where are my lovely bats and bees?
And my sun I placed just so to warm you?
Now its lethal rays bypass a damaged ozone shield
My garden is not like I left it in your care
Nor at all as I expected it to be by now
Show your faces now before me
You must in shame hang your heads
Ah, there you are hiding among the weeds
Skulking about my planet you’ve befouled
Looking as ashen and sickly as the earth itself
Since you allowed gross mismanagement
For your disdain of my garden gift is obvious
Not treasuring the productive land I gave you
Nor heeding my easy instructions
Even killing the Son I sent to help you
To bring you back to my good graces
Away with you to the compost heap!
Never touch hand to my earth again!
No, you shall never have that chance
The good and hardworking sowers you slew
I am raising from their sleep today
They loved and honored my prolific earth
And proved exclusive worship to me
They will mulch your rotting corpses into the soil
To till and plant good seed and cultivate anew
Then I shall have ‘Apollos’ water
And I, by my great power to do as I will
Shall delight, yes, at last
In my long-purposed Garden Paradise