I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind,
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,
Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus
Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare,
If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus*
To struggle up a never-ending stair.
Inscrutable His ways are, and immune
To catechism by a mind too strewn
With petty cares to slightly understand
What awful brain compels His awful hand.
Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:
To make a poet black, and bid him sing!
By Countee Cullen
*Just a note for those who may not know who Tantalus and Sisyphus are; They are two figures from Greek mythology who were being punished in Hades. Tantalus was offered food and water, but before he could actually accept them they were instantly snatched away. Sisyphus had to roll a heavy stone to the top of a hill and after it rolled right back down to the bottom and he would have to repeat the whole process again.