Gods Gifts

We hide God’s gifts under bushels
In pots and pans
On top of tidy shelves
In dusty corners, under floors
In boxes in cupboards in the hall
Sealed in an envelope
To one day burn
Addressed to ‘Sir’ or ‘Madam’
Or, ‘Whom it may concern’.
In the coal scuttle
Where it’ll
Never show
'Mongst all that hell.

Fire it in a rocket to the moon
Stir it into nothing with a spoon
Squash it into something pale and thin
Stuff it to the bottom of the wheelie bin
Or beat it to submission with
This rolling pin.