Origami

I can fold you into any shape you might wish,
then I'm going to hang you from my satellite dish,
for all to see which could transmit some mystery,
thro' eons, atoms and protons, no big bang to me.

That blinding centre of light - tell me who made the heat,
don't say accident, fool, you know that I've got you beat;
what's all this got to do with paper folding - nothing,
or maybe it has - who knows what the finale may bring.

They think that it's sorted but it's not, just anything
will do which can't be refuted out on a flappy wing,
let's stick to those beautiful shapes, no black holes,
quasars, cmb, or convenient theories, opposite poles.

God, I'm very  glad I did arts and not science so long,
because those guys spend life wondering, right or wrong?