A Poem

God made the world in six days flat.

On the seventh He said, "I'll rest."

So He let the thing

Into orbit swing

To give it a dry-run test.

A billion years went spinning by

Then He looked at the whirling blob.

His spirits fell

As He shrugged, "Oh well,

"It was only a six-day job."

I don't know who wrote this, but thought of it today on the eve of the end of the world.