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“O God, thou hast made me
Without hands or feet
—Or teeth—” said the serpent,
“Oh, how shall I eat?”
For that hunger, said God,
Shall leave thee unstung,
Was I not wise to make thee
Thy pretty forked tongue?
“Dear God!” said the snake,
“Thou hast made me some life,
For I fear I can’t cut it
—Thou’st made me no knife!”
For that thou shalt never, nay,
Thy prey once miss
—Nor thy pray—made I not well
Thy béguiling hiss?
“God, what chance have I,
Through thy portals, to pass
When thou, Lord, hast made me
So low in the grass?”
Yet thou goest between each
Blade hither and thither.
Did I not well to make thee
Such slippery slither?
“God, how shall I not
Ever hunger for mate
When so little of goodness
Thou’st heaped on my plate?
Be at peace, my child;
But let thy tongue be showed.
There be snakes enough who’ll take
Thy fork in the road.
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