A lonely stranger traveled by night;
Afraid of day, afraid of light.
But though his fear of light was strong,
He knew inside that dark was wrong.
His mission was to find a way
Out of the fog, out of the gray;
Into the land where light was good.
He felt he could; he knew he would.
Behind him lay the realm of dark,
Black as an obsidian mark.
Before him lies a mystery,
Perhaps a part of history.
Was it a legend, a truthful lie?
He would find out unless he die.
Until then he would look around
Both in the sky and on the ground.
As time flew by the fog grew dim.
A lady stood ahead of him,
Her shining sword held high and ready.
The stranger’s horse grew scared, unsteady.
“O night, why have you left your realm?”
She called, her voice a worried calm.
“I’m searching for truth,” replied the stranger.
“I will help!” She smiled with pleasure.
So together light and dark went on,
And light spoke up, “My name is Dawn.”
“They call me Wrong, I have no name.
My search for truth deserves the blame.
I knew it was time for me to part.”
Dawn looked up and sorrow filled her heart.
“You should be Right, not Wrong my friend.”
Wrong knew at once his soul would mend.
A palace stood along the road
Wrong felt he had just dropped his load.
“Go on, step in!” Dawn pushed him forward.
He nodded; it was right, but it was hard.
Wrong took a step, his heart felt weak,
Compared to this, he was black as ink.
“I have done wrong, I cannot enter.
I am fiery snow, I am dark winter.”
“You must be brave.” She took his arm.
Wrong called out, it would do no harm.
“I wish to leave behind my sin.
I’m tired of failing, I want to win.”
“Because you chose to change your mind,
Your former life is left behind,
Take off the cloak of darkness now.”
Dawn whispered, her face aglow.
She changed his name from Wrong to Right.
His life would now be filled with light.
This was truth, this was freedom.
The darkness was not his kingdom,
He had been born to find this place;
To show it to his own race.
From now on he was a messenger,
Right said it again: yes, a messenger.