The answer



Time stands still as you wander,
And the mountain sings to a sleepy brook
That knows no sorrow.
 
God in his wisdom may ponder:
“I think I ought to take another look
“At this scene tomorrow.”
 
But God sees only what He can see.
 
He can’t see the factory pumps
Spilling out their filthy, stinking ooze
Into waters that cry out to you for rescue.
 
He can’t hear the mountain praying
For the soul of the brook
As it fades, quietly, out of existence.
 
All God sees, from a distance,
Is that everything looks nice.
And that’s enough.

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