Under a tree the Devil plays his flute,
Reflecting on philosophy, wisdom, and
Truth. Racking his brain on trying to find
The root of the formless God-Head, that lies
He’s on vacation from deception and treachery,
Enjoying the earthly wind, he must admit is so
Heavenly. Happiness isn’t something he often
Experiences presently, unless he’s making someone
Else miserable, hence the Devilry.
He looks to the heavens and smiles at God
Determined to undermine his plans against all
Odds, even if he must pick and prod for eternity.
Under a tree the devil plays his flute, reflecting on
Philosophy, wisdom, and truth. The grasses sway
And the tree of truth hums behind the Devil’s back,
Secrets coursing from the top to the root.
The skies are clear and the Devil plays,
The smell of life fills his nose and the tree
Sways. The skies are clear and the Devil plays,
Connecting to God, if only for a day.
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