I can make a satisfying meal:
tasty mixture at a low expense.
I can cook a dinner of appeal
but I can’t fabricate ingredients.

I can change an argue to agree
(switch a letter, make the order squirm).
Composition is a game for me,
and I invert but I can’t coin a term.

For God the maker manufactures parts,
and having fabricated and displayed,
inserts the question into human hearts:
What will you, with the miracles I’ve made?
And only by arranging God’s design
are we allowed a slice of the divine.