A Universe Averse

Christina’s World Andrew Newell Wyeth



Listen, said the butterfly,
You’re not like me—
There’s no metamorphosis
Under your unreachable sky.

Oh, no, said some rabbits,
You’re not like us—
There’s no bliss
Regarding your unmindful habits.

For sure, said a tortoise,
You and I aren’t anything alike—
There’s no refuge
From your unstructured purpose.

Truly, said two trees,
We’re not the same—
There’s no strength
Within your unsupported relativity.

Most definitely, said a mountain peaking,
You can’t compete—
There’s no range
About your unbridled seeking.

Absolutely not, agreed the atheistic sky,
You’re only to blame—
There are no gods and goddesses
Among your untrue high.



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