A great quarrel arose among the Peasants:
Was the man truly a prophet?
Did he write divine writ?
Did he counsel kings?
The man, at his lattice, said,
“An opinion can be prophetic
“A hope for better days divine writ
“And an act of desperation a counsel to kings.
“Did I write holy scripture?
“No… so please do not place my words with the prophets.”
The war stricken land mourned under the battle scarred
And disease laden sloughs, where thousands of men fell
In gunfire and steel. The peasants, having been uplifted by his words
Though they did not all come true
Said, “But, you had known what was to come.”
The man said, in a simple explanation…
“I had read my Bible.
“And I would advise you to read yours.
“Any man has the ability to interpret it
“But my words are chaff.
“If they brought you hope,
“Then like many other writers let them bring hope.
“But, if they brought you to worship a man as false as me
“Then throw it away from yourselves like a bloody cloth.
“I had written what politics I felt best.”
The peasants thought for a second,
Knowing now that he was not a prophet.
But, they realized he had wisdom.
So, they did not throw the books from them
But read them soberly.