The Eighth Day
On the eighth day, they all paraded:
the birds of the air, the beasts of the field.
The lamb lay down next to the lion,
the cat by the mouse, the goat in the grass.
The sun smiled down on the peaceful scene,
warming the eight-day-old creation.
Out He came, relaxed and fit.
Smart new uniform; gleaming jackboots.
Brought them to attention, inspected the lines,
reviewed His work, saw it was good.
Took the salute, stood them at ease.
“OK, chaps – any questions?”
In the silence, He suddenly realised
He’d clean forgotten to organise food.
Never mind. They’d think of something.