The apostle of peace
Has walked our land
Yet men in white robes and white skins
Claimants of prophetic lores
Talk of our grimy ways
We prostrate and the dawns rise forth
Our heated humours fanned sanguine
By glad tidings in the wind.
Our persons sullied in the scheme
Of days
Now purged sicklier odours
Once rouched by comparison
Of a messenger divine
Your scornful messages
Do not register wrath