It’s easy to invent a life,
God does it every day —
Creation but a gambol
Of His authority.
It’s easy to efface it,
The thrifty Deity
Could scarce afford eternity
To spontaneity.
The Perished Patterns murmur,
But His perturbless plan
Proceed — inserting here
A Sun—
There — leaving out a Man.
From The Further Poems of Emily Dickinson (Little, Brown, And Company, 1929), edited by Martha Dickinson Bianchi and Alfred Leete Hampson. This poem is in the public domain.