On the field at Camlann,
 Lancelot lays bleeding,
 Though not a single sword
 Scratched his plated armor.
  
 “Tis the old wound, Sire,
 It has never healed.”
  
 “Because of your sin,
 Sir Lancelot?”
  
 “No, Sire, 
 Because I kept 
 Picking at it.”
  
 10-26-20