Sonnet: God Abhors Evil
Why do you worry of the morrow, man?
God does all things and truth can never fail;
Let evil-doers howsoever plan;
They cannot climb but fall into the dale.
The wicked get ensnared in their own snares;
The rope that’s long God-given is then cut;
And when their downfall comes, none feels nor cares;
There is a tensile strength in any gut!
The ways of God are strange but very sure;
He fields the righteous men who never die;
The evil minds are diseased, without cure,
And die a death suddenly, like a fly!
If you can’t fight an evil brain, don’t cry!
But God will do it surely; you just try.