At night when the call is done,
and the muezzin stops to pray,
and dark clouds have just begun,
to stretch out on their way,
I open up a book of mine,
an old tome of my home.
and mime the title with a sigh,
“Europe: All that we have known”…
-
I read about those bygone days,
when our men were strong and true,
when Europe ruled the land and waves,
and was filled with babies too.
I leaf through the wars and pain -
see the God who brought us through -
and all the freedoms we did gain,
from the words which Locke first drew.
-
Oh, how did we come to this?
Europe, the strong, the bold, the brave?
Oh, what sins did we commit,
to lead ourselves upon this way?
Was it doubt? Or our belief
that nothing much was true?
And why did men choose to leave,
every truth they ever knew?
-
Was it hubris, was it pride?
Was it lust, or was it greed?
And why, oh why, did we decide,
to kill our babies in their sleep?
-
And who could have ever thought,
after all we’d gained and wrought,
that our grave would be marked,
by a crescent – not a cross?
-
America, We are done. We are done!
So when this poem’s through,
please pray for us in Europe…
-
We once prayed for you.
