Someone could live a million times and view
the stars still bright as ever, gleaming light.
Earth's sun would shine its gold and silver hue
like one of Van Gogh's orbs in Starry Night.
How far could Heaven be? The speed of light
four years in flight would find near-star Centauri.
Imagination's tease is doctrine's plight;
the universe, so vast, still fools the jury.
One little flock of souls migrate about
a ball of dirt, prosaic and petite.
If God conducted each soul in and out,
and weighed each wish and whim (no paltry feat!),
who tends eternity's untold details
so number-nuts and mazed, intellect fails?