He stood upon the last Bastions of the place Looked out on the ruins With thunder in his face
An introverted spectacle In the flowers on the rocks The daisies on the ramparts Blowing free
His heart was divided Clouds gathered in the sky The belfry made of wood and steel Was silenced in it’s cry
Something must have happened What, he wouldn’t say But shown within The wider lens of history
His mission the transmission Of technology
One cannon trained upon the church This one caught his eye “To keep the bishop in his place” He muttered with a sigh
His mood was melancholy His attitude severe His inner burden Weighed upon him mightily A bird as never seen in books Flew in overhead A kind of dove it might have been But not a sound was said
All the ancient knowledge lay In pieces on the ground The cause of all his suffering Was not for love of me
