With hands so precise
Prometheus granted his clay creatures
such form they knew to learn
and carve their own way.

With forethought most sincere
Prometheus stole them fire
to fear no darkness
and, once serendipitous, taste fine meals.

With understanding a form yet mastered, claws so coarse,
Prometheus was cragged from his grace;
punishment for believing his craft
was no less than the gods.

With hope so small it fluttered, Prometheus endured;
his clay learning what flame had taught
—never having wished to understand yet understood
and then, themselves, created.