The Dust Machine Poem by Wale Adekoya

They labour to discover how
This marvel of a man
Was cunningly conceived of old
Without a master plan

Well fashioned from the finest clay
And set to rule the earth
What mystery of purpose
Seems to cloud his primal birth

The more they look the less they see
The less they understand
How probable this accident
Without a guiding hand

Multisensory perception
Automatic respiration
Thermostatic perspiration
Self maintaining
Life sustaining
Fuel efficient, trouble free
Plus a lifetime guarantee

The fools, they make machines from steel
So clumsy, so unsound
Yet still provide instructions
For the owners, to be found

The mystery of the dust machine
Still waiting to be heard
Has all along been plainly shown
Within the makers Word. (Gen 2: 7)