I Defy the Cosmos
This cosmic clutter wins no beauty prize:
As ob-jet d’art it’s mostly gaudy spheres,
Like those on Christmas trees, except for size,
And kitchy rings at which the tasteful sneer.
And all those stars, apparently aloof
And cold, you must admit they’re not as bright
As those we string at Yuletide on the roof,
Nor charm like sky-viewed city lights at night.
So whether it is chance or artifice,
I do not find the cosmos beautiful,
And whether it is friend or nemesis,
I also find it less than meaningful.
Intelligent design, though, may well be;
God might have slipped when he made George and me.