Chanting away to ensure
his place in the sun,
little did he surmise
the Other's disdain
With looks demure
he pleaded on thence
in words gravely plain
and enticed with such allure
but it made small sense

The Powers that be
ever delude thus,
Yet we, mortals all
pining away in misery
at the Master's decree
always ranting
at times supplanting
like fools come across
We stand shorn
when we thus mourn
trying to discern His glory
yearning without pause
too befuddled to see
forever and ever at a loss