Rivaling Caedmon Poem by Oleg Vorobyov

The shepherd comes to mind
Who sang Creation Hymn.
No rival, axe to grind,
I am to echo him.

The legend has its truth
To meet canonic codes;
Its word's precarious proof
Might've been a theme for odes.

Just driven by the Book,
Which origins are laid,
My retrospective look
Uncovers gems inlaid:

The first gem was the Word
As coming from the mouth
Of all-pervasive God
In west, east, north and south;

The second was the World
Inspired by the One
As multitudinous horde
Sprang forth out of none;

The third was wrought of Clay
In outline divine, -
And thus is sung my lay,
A biblical Auld Syne.