On the Fourth Day

Maybelle, my queen goat, a slumbering mound,
curled, serene, so soft and round,
an inviting pillow for my weary head.
She won’t notice me if, instead
of sitting down on this sack,
I lay my head on her back;

But, she did! Her yellow dragon eyes
snap open, vertical slits, my demise
reflected in their portrait vision,
suddenly jumps up leaving no delusion
that I am not suppose to do that!
She marches off, calling me a brat

And strikes a regal pose,
staring down her long nose,
chewing deliciously on hay.
Then it struck me, she’s can’t stray
into a world of what-if,
no imagining a different way.

No thoughts of what could be
ever enter her noble head,
her mind can’t drift or shift
into anything but present tense;
but much worse, she can’t see
a ‘you and me’ beyond feed.

If I am a god to her, then why do i feel hurt?
How about a heartfelt thank you?
or how about creating your own feed,
or let me watch you meet your own needs?
Why must I always take the lead?
And then, as if struck my lightning,
my mind shifts to more celestial things;
thinking about how God felt
with the creations he dealt
who couldn’t even see Him
and the loneliness he beared.

I imagined, even more, the thrill
when He saw, for the first time,
a sun drawn on a cave wall
with stick figures, arms
raised high; surely bringing
tears to his eyes,
realizing they see Me! Alas
finally someone who can–
Come back to me.