Classic Poem

Along time ago, I think,
God scribbled this universe
Across a random scrap of infinity;
Paused midway for lack of ink,
And, in the slovenly way of Divinity,
Let it go for better or worse.

Now and then
God picks it up again.
(Earth, I think, is a period
Or a semicolon's half, or the dot
On an i . Not that it matters.)

And God
Pores for a minute or two at best
Over the dog-eared palimpsest,
And muses: " I wrote this, I know, but what
I meant it to be I've quite forgot.

" I'll have to get rid of this rubbish soon.
It will make a bonfire some afternoon. "