Before we fell and wrapped ourselves in sin
A fig leaf seemed enough—if that—to shade
Us from His eye. Cool breezes cooled our skin.
You might well say we really had it made.
When knowledge reared its head, removed our daze,
We gained a self-awareness, so to speak,
While God observed in non-controlling ways.
I think He knew that we were up the creek.
The centuries roll on, yet we lack grace.
Consumed with angst and guilt, when feeling bad
We pile on spandex, velvet, fur and lace,
Then pad, constrict, drape golden chains and add
Some shoes. They are the final cosmic joke,
The most absurd of garments that we wear—
Outsized, grotesque, misshapen things that choke
Our feet. We find redemption when we’re bare.