"Dear Charity," the wizard moaned,
As pain stabbed him like a knife,
"I only wanted your fine tree,
To save my sorry life.

"You see, dear child, I'm poisoned,
My life's seeping away,
Without the proper antidote,
I won't live to the next day."

"Oh, poor soul!" cried Charity,
With tears bright in her eyes,
For once the wizard was sincere,
And she felt pity for him rise.

"If only you had asked, sir,"
Said Charity with rue,
"I'd not have withheld the tree,
I'd have given it to you."

This was the first kind act,
That wizard did receive,
And with such a pure, good gesture,
His wicked ways did leave.

"Oh Charity," he said earnestly,
"If I could live life anew,
I would change every deed I did,
And try to be like you.

"But alas, dear girl, I cannot,
The hour is too late,
This poison's done its vile work,
And death is now my fate.

"But perhaps with a small acorn,
If you are kind enough to give,
I might procure a potion,
That would buy me time to live.

"With that time, I'd walk the land,
In an effort to atone,
For all the wrongs I've done this world,
That cannot be condoned."

The End

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