Yet Do I Marvel
By Countee Cullen
I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind,
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,
Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus
Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare
If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus
To struggle up a never-ending stair.
(The rest of the poem is here. Round up is at Karen Edmisten.)
**Almost at the exact moment I hit the "publish post" button, the phone rang. Two hour delay because of the icy rain last night. That's as close to a lightning bolt as I want to get, so I now stand IN TOTAL AGREEMENT with Countee Cullen!!!!