This soil is awf'ly hard to till; I wouldn't have to do't If Eve had never come along And offered me that fruit. She said the serpent tempted her— That subtle, talking beast: He said it would be good for us— A juicy, tasty, feast. He said that it would make us smart: We'd know both bad and good. He said we'd be one-up on God; Eve thought we really could. Of course, she didn't tell me this, Did not his tale repeat. She handed me a piece of fruit And said, "Here, Adam, eat." So how was I supposed to know We'd be offending God— We'd be thrown out of Eden's glen To till the rock-hard sod? I don't see why He punished us And threw us out the gate: 'Twas He who made me out of dust And gave me Eve as mate. He made the beasts—the serpent, too— And every single tree, Including that whose tempting fruit Made us as smart as He. The serpent, Eve, yes, God Himself Have much to answer for. It's all their fault I'm plowing dirt Outside lush Eden's door.
April 23, 1995