Nature, it seems,

Can't make up her mind

As to what to do

With her infinity of time.

Let us begin

To consider the forms

She chooses to spin

Disregarding all norms.

First it is this,

Then it is that.

But she canít determine

Just where it's at.

Now she makes things

Too small to see

And suddenly

Goes on a spree

Creating a mountain

And later a twig

Then thoughtlessly

An eatable fig.

  Next she decides

On eight-legged Spiders

Without any thighs

Because they are wider.

The following moment

She ponders with glee

Making creatures see


But feeling no joy

For what she had done,

She reached the conclusion

 She would have some fun.

So, maliciously,

She created flies

And also ants

With compound eyes.

And then with a snicker

And sillatious glee,


ďNo wings for you.

Be glad you can see!"

Then -- all of a sudden --

She ponders a thought:

"What am I doing?

This is for naught.

  Iím bigger than this

And must suit my pride

As well as my stride.

I've got it!

I've got it!"

Nature loudly exclaimed,

"Iíve been wasting my time.

It is clearly plain.

All I need do,

Indeed a must,

With attractive forces,

Iíll first create

A universe of dust.

Then Iíll invest it

 With change and motion

Out of which,

Iíve a notion,

Will emerge

Countless things,


And small.

And I,



Will be master,

Of all."


© 1997 -- 2007 by Pasqual S. Schievella