When all is said and done, I was born first.
I tilled the ground, while Abel tended sheep
-- and what are sheep? Just fluffy bits of wool.
They bleat in hunger. Then they bleat in thirst.
And all the while I tilled and cursed that creep
and sweated while my brother played the fool.
The firstlings of his flock he brought to God,
while I brought of the fruit that I had tilled,
but though I gave the best of all I had,
he much preferred the gifts brought by that sod.
My anger raged until I saw I'd killed
the brother whose existence made me mad.
From then I wasn't welcome at God's table,
and all because I hadn't been born Abel.