treesomes

Jim Hawkins approached in mellow mood
With cries of "Hey" and "Whassup Dude?"

He bid me sit and listen hence
To his latest gems of intelligence.

Full of grins and giggles odd
He haply proclaimed: "There is no God."

"It's all a myth and so we're free
To indulge in ceaseless pagan orgies."

My gentle admonitions drew
A stern rebuke: "Oh come on, you knew."

"We're genes and chemistry, that is all.
Richard Dawkins is on the ball."

"He's spotted the con job, he's called God's bluff.
We're not spirits. We are stuff."

He rambled on in manner crude
Before bidding me a merry: "See ya Dude."

And I was left to contemplate
The wilful hopelessness of the atheistic state.

Our minds enslaved, our spirits pseudo free.
Oh orgies are made by fools like me

And I'd have added if he'd waited to the bold Jim Hawkins
Only God can make a Richard Dawkins.