The Seventh Day Picnic

On the seventh day, God breathed out, tired, laid back beneath a shade tree, quiet an inspired he said  "Let there be a day," then exhaled and thought to himself ,a day, "for wine and bread and mortal folk."    
     
He summoned a handful from dust and clay,  
spread blankets thick on the earth's cool day.
The people settled and sipped their wine, ate their bread although there wasn't time, curious, bold, their questions fine.    
     
One then asked ,"Do you eat where light wain,or does heaven’s glow mask hunger’s strain?"  If a limb is lost or sight is blurred,  do fragments find us again, unscathed, unstirred?”    
     
God’s gaze right back, cool and strong,    
and a wisp of a tale that drifted long.    
He then said , “A boy once woke singing like bird ,thought joy was his to share, as he sang each word".  
     
But the warm wind stirred a different note;    
What exactly are you saying,  
was this a blessing or a subtle joke?    
Would friends take heed, or mock and part,    
leave him adrift with a changing heart?”    
     
They sat an listened, the people leaned right in where silence settled thick as sin.    
One voice rose soft, reverent and deep,    
So lord “Was it a fable you spun, or wisdom’s we keep?”    
     
God offered no final, holy decree,    
only the hush of eternity.    
They drank and sat beneath the shade,    
bound by the questions earth had made.