The Ravager

Poem on one of the sources of human suffering, disease in this case.

Slowly does he ride
Upon his emaciated steed
A foul miasma about him
A sickly taint to the air
The Ravager is he called
His path carries him ever forward
Plodding along, too slow yet too fast
His gifts are many and varied
And he bestows them generously
To man and woman, child and animal
His touch begets rot
His glance, affliction
He conquers cities
Slays kings
Devours the weak
Annihilates armies
Terror does he sow
Death does he reap
Vile and unclean
The Ravager is he