God in Heaven, sat on high,
beheld the Earth with watchful eye,
the carpenters were at their trade;
the flock and shepherd slept in shade;
the merchants at their wicked wiles
(though not ideal, freewill abides);

He watch’d please’d o’er Gaia shown;
Jesus, fair Son, approached the Throne,
and Jove astonish’d swept around,
that Elysian footsteps echoes sound,
but Heaven, dreadful sight behold,
Prodigal Son man’s manifold!

My only Son, durst cut Thy hair,
pray take again Thy Princely air;
thoust in Heaven; take Thy form,
aura Incarnate, Royal-born;
thus cut Thy hair now, shave Thy beard,
Gods have no part in teenage years.

‘Tis not a phase! Jesus repli’d!
‘Tis but a phase! God angr’d cried!;
away to Earth now, take Thy leave,
partake in Adam’s revelries,
whence don’t return now, I decry
ere this foul phase hast passed You by.

thus Jesus alit on Earth esteemed,
and lived His life as He didst mean;
He got a job, hence paid His rent;
wait, no — His Life upon the cross was spent

(this part was not of His intent)

and returne’d to Heaven shaven clean —
was right; t’was but a phase it seemed.

jesus but it’s not just a phase
2024