Poem about a mystery

Poem about a mystery
 
I’ve been unduly busy lately,
plumbing the ocean with a six foot pole;
 
mystified by my lack of success. 
Dutifully, I cast my bread upon the waters
 
but it hasn’t returned to me yet.
Is there any greater foolishness
 
than writing a poem about a mystery
you know nothing about?
 
I end up with a nonsense verse; not quite
gibberish, but it makes about as much sense.
 
My next one I’ll write in disappearing ink.
It’s less embarrassing that way.
 
Then I’ll drop it through the barred window
of my cell onto the street below.
 
O child, how might you judge what is worthy
if everything is provided to you by God?