At last our Singular saintly turn:

Was raised to temple by humble family carpenters,

And traveled abroad to learn worldy suffering more,

I returned and saw the roaming State of the World,

So I lived the outer lands to understand cruel score,

Offering free health care, speaking for least of these,

I shone brightest at 27 but died by state cross at 34,

Setting renewed boundary within nation-state cores.

And now, this Celestial alien age:

Was raised to commune by devote saintly merchants,

So I fled to the urbanities to dance in unseeable lanes, 

I burned out at 27, died at 34, departing mind until 36,

I was not one to save this world, but was the many lost,

Wandering haze by greedy spirits without human souls,

Turning cold eyes to try re-code god’s stubbornly costs,

Stretching further heaven’s ease, unto the least of these.