Long years ago did humankind
Wake up one fateful day to find
No more were they alone in bed—
Blithe innocence had up and fled—
Their children filled up every space,
Limbs flailing 'round most every place,
Kids jabbing, tickling sire or sib,
Especially Adam's missing rib.
"These kids are such a pain," said Eve,
"A worse pain I cannot conceive.
By watching us, each fertile brain
Has learned some way of raising Cain."
The daughters and the sons of Adam
Wreaked havoc on their social stratum
So Adam made them hired hands
To work the tilled and thorny lands—
You know, to give the mower pushes
And tend to Eve's first-prize rose bushes,
To trim the hedge of evergreens
And chase the woodchucks from the beans,
Pull dandelions from the yard—
He didn't work them very hard,
And yet they dodged all they were able
(Except, of course, the dinner table).
And thus the curses interweave:
The toil of Adam, pain of Eve.
The curses' curse of generations
Was passed from them to all the nations.
So how's the work get done, you ask,
Each major project, each small task?
It ain't by kids—not up till now—
It's by the sweat of Adam's brow.
How Eve survives her painful past?
She knows their childish days won't last,
And so consoles herself that they
Themselves will feel the curse some day.