This scribble is accompanied by a brief video of its reading, the link can be found beneath the text of the poem.

 

Your charity offends me sir

my gut, my guts

begin to stir,

I left my friends alone out there

your virtue

is beyond their care.

 

Your hand is clean and offered well

my sense, my senses

prick my smell,

that what you seek is not for all

a misers gift

so very small.

 

Your mind is set on quick return

my finger, fingers

flesh that burns,

what you don't know is what I've learned

the worm that lives

Is one that's turned

 

Your corpse yet breathes though dreadful cold

my eye, my eyes

will not behold,

a Kingdom bought so lowly sold

that those who fight

shall grow not old

 

https://wolfgarwords.com/2024/03/11/covenant/