(for Linda Hill)
It makes no difference what the scientists sayThe hand of God that drew night and dayOut of the mysterious void so we could beSaid "Let there be light." Then He conceived the Sea.
So God made nature, His bride and artifact,Who must be joined to man to be exactSolicitous, creative, her form adored-But men are treacherous, and she gets bored.
The sea bows out, so has a neat acquittalBut a woman has to hang on, it's maritalDefined by her childbearing propensityHe ignores her intellectual intensity.
The exclamation mark on femine creation,The seahorse, is father and mother of a nationBearing his eggs, his body all erectIndicates Genesis to be unfinished tract.
The clam, the flagellate, the urchin and the crab,Outride the night-time fancy of Queen MabWhat finger initialling in the sandWould be seahorse in the middle of that band?
I, said the mother, who would die of thirstRather than be considered firstThe protozoa and the doughty trilobiteHaving precedence in this unseemly fight.
So the wedding's done, the guests have gone to seedTo celebrate necessity and greedWho in her bridal gown of plangent seaweedCan sing the sadness of a broken reed?
