In the beginning twas nothing but Him,
He breathed into dirt, His Word, breath of life.
Paradise, a garden, made just for them.
Witheld from Eden and banished from life,
Because of folly, their future was grim.
Between them and Him was permanent strife.
No fig leaves could hide outright rebellion,
The shedding of blood needed to be done.
Sacrificed, like olives, crushed by the press,
Again in a garden suffering stress.
Redeemed by His blood, the life that we knew,
Risen, He gave us Paradise anew.
Twas Adam and Eve; now’s PB and J,
Eden Gethsemane, their child this day.
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