Creation bore equity,

Humanity bore loathe,

For a flesh made ours by a Being above all.

A sin not from creation,

Yet, a sin for humanity,

Costs us daily.

Industrious sons, made to toil,

Making from nothing, something,

Bearing in dawn and dusk,

Yet, no fruits yielded.

Theirs will curse,

Ours will curse,

For what was made ours yet, different?

Glee in your race.