Oh foul charity,
How thou hast ensnared my modest sensibilities
Entrapping me within thy dank, rotted walls.
I feareth most that my breaths be limited in number
For thou hast constricted my life source
With thy strong, bony fingers
And squeezed the very riches
From the deepest folds of my cloak.
Thy trickery weighs heavy for thou once was noble in spirit;
Forthright in thy efforts to nourish the starved
And portion thy pence yet now,
Thou wouldst steal the very coinage
Which thou hast bestowed upon me
Without as much as a glance back.
Oh charity, thou art a putrid excuse for stalwart affirmation,
How thou hast distorted what once was good and righteous,
Altering it into what would serve thee better;
Transforming it into thy own self-serving bequest
Of which nay shall touch lest their own starving hands
Be hewn from their stumps.
Charity, oh foul, foul charity,
How thou hast swindled me,
And now I grasp that thou art tolerant no more.

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