Nature hath Her seasons,
The earth her course is sure.
Mankind hath his reasons,
His motives aren’t obscure.
He calls upon his power
(With free-will he’s bedecked)﹣
To ply her ample dower,
God’s Will he doth prosect.
Cast out from the Garden,
By his constant greed.
His gentle heart doth harden
When he meddles with the seed.
Her bounty is abundant
In Her course across the stars.
Man’s will is not redundant,
Lest it God’s Will debars.
Gregory Hake 
Beautiful Gregg, thank you.
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I think man has so obfuscated the use of his free will that serving any other deity, besides his own cravings, is near impossible. When someone does lift their head above the besotted crowd it’s not without risk but the greater risk is not doing it. Wonderful poem!
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