Colonised crusades

Imagine, g, you were a physician in the Middle East,

In its golden era, and you awake one day, to thumping

On your door, appears a dirty village idiot, full of lice,

And a rusty pitchfork, which they rush at you,

With the word “God”, and do you not feel a stirring, g,

Akin to that setting, here, within Berwick, like a

Bomb being dropped on a nuclear reactor,

And do you ever wonder, like the dr, what was that for?