Already wearisome, it grows,
The speculation that has swirled
About her running. Clear she knows
The end is coming of the world.
And all too soon, I’d think. She’s said
It’s but six thousand years ago
That God created Earth instead
Of billions as the outcrops show.
If only John McCain had thought
To walk her down Grand Canyon’s trail
And look at what the eons wrought:
Deposits layered into shale.
She also feels the dinosaur
And humans once together dwelled
Though sixty million years before,
Iguanodons were last beheld.
Young-Earth Creationists they’re named,
Who see in human growth God’s hand—
Intelligent design, disclaimed
By schools and courts across the land.
They also have an odd belief
In End-of-Days scenarios.
Those unblessed souls who need relief
Will look for wilds to flee their throes.
Like in Alaska, refuge state.
Thus said her pastor at her side.
So in the lower forty-eight,
Would there she’d rather now reside?
Has she no feelings for the damned
Who’ll need concerned encouragement?
She'd want to care before she scrammed
If she’s to be the president . . .
. . . and win salvation for us all.
But can we ponder one so strange?
Let Sarah Palin make a call
Within, say, Pyongyang’s missile range?
No comments:
Post a Comment