I am the servant of Elisha,
The greatest prophet of his day.
He was the student of Elijah,
Until God carried him away.

I’d hoped to follow in his footsteps,
To be a great prophet as well.
But then, in a moment of weakness,
I condemned myself to this hell.

Naaman was a Syrian captain,
Known for his battle strategy.
He was a mighty man of valor,
But afflicted with leprosy.

One day he came to my master’s door,
For he’d heard of his expertise.
The king of Israel told of it,
Saying: “He can cure your disease.”

He was told to wash in the Jordan,
Which incensed the captain to wrath.
Were there no better waters than this
In which Naaman could take his bath?

But his servants convinced him to try,
They said he had nothing to lose.
If there was a chance he could be cured,
It would be foolish to refuse.

So he did as Elisha told him,
And his malady disappeared.
He promised the God of Israel
Would, from that day on, be revered.

He wanted to reward my master,
But Elisha would not accept.
So I set out to claim the reward,
Which I believed he should have kept.

I asked for a talent of silver,
And two garments that I could wear.
Yet he gave me two silver talents,
And my lord was somehow aware.

I was summoned before Elisha,
And he announced his prophecy.
Since I sought what belonged to Naaman,
I was cursed with his leprosy!

And so I am now thus afflicted,
For coveting earthly reward,
Instead of the spiritual gifts,
Received by those who seek the Lord.

Let my tale serve as a reminder,
For greed exacts a heavy toll.
What good is it to gain a kingdom,
If you lose your immortal soul?

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