
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
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
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