Don't Count Your Chickens . . .

   
   "Don't Count Your Chickens . . ."
   
Never count the mysterious chickadee
Until you've taken a kidney stone pee,
For though your patriarch pooped a heart attack--
This don't mean sister, you need an anti-depressant for a fluxing serotonin jack,
Though even an ascetic can fail to enter paradise,
If God's sense of keen dream is smitten by the fallen, strange but not nice;
Alas, Calvin armed with his theological point of predestination
Is like unto the Web of Wyrd and The Norns' temptation;
Thus, without hesitation, pluck out your own eye and hang on a tree,
For even the lesser gods can with a singular eye see;
Hence, love the Christ, love the Christ, love the Christ--
A Trinity:  Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, embarking into death can be a benevolent heist.