Man's Presumption

Oh, man's presumption! It maketh me to smile-
Tolerantly, for I am acquainted
With the mysteries of God.
Man moutheth over words,
And hangeth his wisdom with garments of words.
Man knoweth certainties which even God doubteth!
Man is fatly satisfied with his discoveries,
Flinging up materials to touch the skies,
Letting his wisdom speed his imagination,
Until it becometh living-and flieth forth!
Then doth man fat his satisfaction-
And a gnat flieth by, humming!
Lo, he distilleth wondrous potions,
Sending forth scents which are parallel
Unto God's creations. Yea, he cunningly
Contrives to create sham realities,
Hollows masks of His handiwork.
Yet they stand before him, these man-created
Matter-heavy creations, senselessly-
While a swallow skims, sending forth
Its cry to the greying sky!
Oh, the presumption of man! He may dip
His quill into wisdom, and write scripts
Which make the brow of the wise to sweat-
But he may not tint one petal,
Or tip it with honey!