Sonnet: God Abhors Evil

Why do you worry of the morrow, man? God does all things and truth can never fail; Let evil-doers howsoever plan; They cannot climb but fall into the dale. The wicked get ensnared in their own snares; The rope that’s long God-given is then cut; And when their downfall comes, none feels nor cares; There is a tensile strength in any gut! The ways of God are strange but very sure; He fields the righteous men who never die; The evil minds are diseased, without cure, And die a death suddenly, like a fly! If you can’t fight an evil brain, don’t cry! But God will do it surely; you just try.