Spending time looking for something that isn't there.
miniver Seven winters in a sleepy mind;
Twelve great merriments; a laugh,
a lazy stroll under the sea:
This may have been your dream
that seeped in icy oceans
all blue-green and drowningly.
"I was not meant to understand."
From thirteen leagues below,
You saw the snow meet water
and just float around, awhile,
then disappear to dance with you
among so many haunted reefs.
Now, then. Now, all left unremembered.
amy with nothing, now. and nothing left behind.

(i am the resident flippant guesser. i actually did not know you were god. they never told me. numbers? what numbers? ;) )
miniver I wasn't God long enough to legally change my name. Besides which, I don't think I could survive without my mere mortal miniverian nonpopularity goading me on. (So, just don't start flippantly confessing and ye shall be saved from the eternal flames of hell, yada, scepter-wave, etc.)

And, of course, bonus points must be awarded for a most politic acknowledgement of the pretty numbers. Numberlings.

This is a trap, too, though isn't it? Now, I speak -- a tragedy. And blathing much too often to remain pessimistically subpopular...
phil vote 030607
phil I'll trap you in my bubble wrap and never give you back. 030607
marjorie it's what you do with what you've got
and are you really nice or not
what's it to you?
who go