We meander among the mistakes of the Lord,
Paths sawn-off by cliff-edge drops,
Marshes that snare the traveller to disease,
Areas awaiting His construction,
And polite it would be not mention His embarrassment,
Though the fault seems a striving for perfection.
Give us, we petition you, Prometheus,
Pallid and introspective where the Lord is brash,
A world more clever, pragmatic more,
A field to suit the human above the immortal.