There was only one prior occasion when your humble Curmudgeon burdened you with his poetic efforts. That was The Night Before Christmas Eve. But now, because nothing else is going on, we’re going to inflict our poetry on you again. Here it comes:
O I’m the Intelligent Designer,
Of the universe. What could be finer?
I made the sun, the moon, and the stars,
I carved the Face on Mars,
There is no missing link,
And that ought to make you think.
I’m such an Intelligent Designer,
Of DNA the entwiner,
Of your genetic code the signer,
And of the sun I’m the shiner.
Yes I’m the Intelligent Designer,
Sorry I botched up your spine[r],
And much to my surprise,
I’m not thrilled about your eyes,
Or your teeth or your toes,
But Goodness knows,
I could have done worse, I suppose.
Betwixt the fossil gaps,
Is where you’ll find me … perhaps.
What-e’er you can’t understand,
Is proof that I’ve played my hand.
There was nothing before me,
Yet Darwin forswore me,
Fool that he was,
I got even because,
He ended up in the Lake of Fire.
Sorry about that last line. The muse failed us. To make up for it, here’s another:
The Intelligent Designer am I,
You should give my theory a try,
I don’t need species transitional,
Not when I’m so exceptional,
At the work that I do,
Which ‘though unseen by you,
Needs less faith than eee-voou-luuu [shun].
But we’re not done yet. Here’s a final couplet:
Mars is red, Uranus is blue,
The Intelligent Designer created you.
So there you are, dear reader. If you’d like to offer your own verses, that’s what the comments are for.
Copyright © 2014. The Sensuous Curmudgeon. All rights reserved.