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“Prediction,” Ensign, Dec. 1975, 65


If I chose

Not to bear this child

That in me grows,

Giving in

To the well-respected

And learned

Philosophies of men,

There would be

No crash of thunder

At my decision;

No lightning burst

Or loud, condemning voice

From heaven,

Only bitter knowledge

Forever after

And the quiet, pleased sound

Of Satan’s laughter.