|Without the Garden, dearest Eve, man’s lost
Within the labyrinth of endless choice;
And, though in theory free, he finds the cost
Includes reduction of his Maker’s voice –
Which for the gardener soughs in leafy trees,
Accompanies the birds in their sweet song,
Buzzes amusingly with wings of bees,
Pulsates in every heartbeat slow and strong.
But there’s another angle to this state
Of exile from the Garden that is home:
Removed from God and natural law, our fate
Becomes the toy of souls condemned to roam.
|When limits are no longer in his sight,
Man thinks to play Creator is all right.
|12 Sonnets from Eden
by Michael Peach
28 May 1999