God Must Be Busy Poem by Naison Nyaunzwi

I once saw an old chap cry
I wondered what lay underneath his core
A mind ponder as tears dry
Stories tell periods afore
An anecdote spoke but filthy his hands
His being quaked earth before turned spirit scrounger
Heirs died; a lone soul left to these bands
Lonely became his lounger

I once overheard tales of a clergyman
Fiend bequeathed him a spouse, he told
Poor soul off the diary of a madman
Hearts bled as truth unfold
“Will my womb ever tranquil? ”
Cried female,
“I see his flesh inscribed with a quill”
Bellowed her male

I know of an ancient lad
Cursed his son afore birth
The whisper forbid him dad
Too thin was his girth
Yearns he now, for a soul to keep
Never was his choice to lease
Time knows heavens, it had seen peep
But world wonders never cease

These are memoires of ensnared souls
Hearts tear but still patient
To when the bell tolls
Bands of a common sentiment
A doyenne from Cheyenne pleads he hears
But, is he wet behind the ears?
Carved in our minds stands not easy
But…God must be busy