The die is cast, the palm is greased:
He oddly lives yet is deceased.
At hour's end you'll know his fate:
Wield the pry-bar; open crate.
The cat's alive! You sigh relief.
The cat is dead! You pour out grief.
Yet prior to that (it's hard to square)
The cat both lives and dies in there.
Uncertainty? It seems extraneous
To be and not be simultaneous!
The cat himself is not aware
That he both lives and dies in there.
You want to use your moral clout
To help the fated feline out
But prayer is vain, considering that
God cannot help Schrödinger's Cat.
Yet we whose fates are noncontiguous
(Not dichotomous, ambiguous)
Can pray to Him to help us choose
The gun or rope or pills or booze
Or bridge or train or jagged knife
Or bed-bound, ebbing senile life.
Whether or not we have this choice,
We like to think God hears our voice
(Surely there are certain guidelines!)
But He diddles on the sidelines,
An all-important caveat
Both for us and Schrödinger's Cat.