gardenal sin

and then He shouted, the apple was a curse
your race shan't ever be pure
the fall has begun to an end much worse
than death, for knowledge hasn't cure

your sin is tall, your love the deepest pit
my guinea little rodents, look, that's it
creation is for me, you are blasphemy now
get off my lawn, go, don't fake the bow

the apple lay still, a brain whirred on
lone and bereft but a hefty intellect
and as if a spark then hit right home,
Newton got up and took a bow and left