In a faraway land,
Left to lie
In an unmarked grave
In the slowly sifting
sand.
He'd left his home
In a faraway land,
His spirits high
On voyage to save
The poor in an alien land.
But the aliens cried
When they saw his gifts;
A savage rage of waiving
fists -
In a hail of stones he
died.
His gifts were books
The villagers feared
For their dark foreboding
looks,
Locked in a box
And piled with rocks
On a dune the sun would
sear.
No avian eye, no
scratching claw
Could see what the villagers
saw:
The myth of civilization
Belied in a book of war,
The tale of a god's
creation
Destroyed in a jealous
roar,
And the senseless doom of
saviors
Whose lessons we all
ignore.
