Damsel And The Anointing Poem by Charles Karia

Beware my son, for you'll preach far.
When you descend from the altar,
And the hall is awash with applause,
An agent a waits with a holy pose,
In the happy throngs of the redeemed.
Is a damsel or the gentleman is hired;
And wired for shortcuts without grace,
Chasing blessings without sacrifice.
Lay your hand on me, they say;
For I'm incredibly defiled, they cry.
But fasting is labour dear to me,
Its for people with a strong knee.
But should you want my flesh sir,
I'm already very much astir.