All is equal, all is sequel
Of His creative intelligence,
All is His craft, all is His art,
All is His rare creative gem;
Virus in air, human anywhere,
Grass or deer, lion or bear,
All is His craft, creative shaft,
He never grades or ranks them.
Gifts in each, rifts and breach,
Each reflects His creative reach,
All is means for farther goal,
All is His road to distant roll;
None of it an end or fulfillment,
Mere artefact for higher shift.
He's its author, designer, father,
Highs and lows, His creative flows,
His means to reach what He wants;
All is His own, His favourite,
All is His creation, fulfillment;
Sand or plants, mammals or birds,
His rare sparks, His love of love.
Man might claim, he's on top,
God's favourite, His own image;
Alas! No favourite finds an author,
No favourite finds a loving father,
All is His, His creative sparks,
All He devised on special needs;
Eyes or thighs, lungs or brains,
Not less or more in bodily process;
All is equal, all is sequel
Of His creative intelligence.
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