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Lord, I wish I were a herbivore
—Oh, now that spring has sprung!
How I’d brave those thistles, needles, thorns,
To taste upon my tongue,
Every succulent, herb, sage and grass
—So sweet, mint-green, and young!
Whose vernal flavors—yearnal savors!—
Nine months go unsung.
Lord, I wish I were a frugivore
—Oh, now that summer’s ripe!
Full might I feast on every fruit,
Of every fragrant type;
From every branch, cane, vine, and bush
—Each luscious shape, and stripe.
And never, Lord, oh, never ever
Whine, or moan, or gripe!
Lord, I wish I were a breathivore,
—Oh, now that autumn falls!
And I could live on crisp, clean air
Whilst singing madrigals!
The smell, the sight—the thought of food—
My fasting soul appals!
And turns to yeast sweet summer’s feast,
Till hunger sours and galls!
Lord, I wish I were a carnivore,
—Oh, now that winter’s young!
For snow lies deeply on the grass
—Full cold her sting has stung!
Dear Lord, the living, soon I shall
Not count myself among,
And wish some meat—to give me heat—
Unto me might be flung!
Lord, I wish I were an omnivore,
—Oh, all throughout the year!
And I could then eat what—oh, joy!—
My drooling tongue lay near.
You are! a voice inside me sang
—Its tone was sweet! and clear!
Since when, dear Lord, that one sweet chord!
Rings gospels in mine ear.
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