| I will not rise this morning or boss myself around
|
| Nor will I attend my daily chores
|
| Underneath the covers sipping ginger ale
|
| All the livelong day I’ll stay indoors
|
| Today will be a day of rest, of medicine and broth
|
| Of sitting out the world of busy-do
|
| Today will be a sick day, quarantined at home
|
| With my hot water bottle and the flu
|
| I’ll occupy my mind with a stack of various books
|
| And miscellaneous mildewed magazines
|
| Between some fits of coughing I’ll ruminate and pine
|
| And lose myself in restless fever dreams
|
| Propped up on a pillow, a single piece of mail
|
| A greeting card enjoining «get well soon»
|
| Today will be a day of rest, of thermometers and pills
|
| And idle convalescence in my room
|
| Jack Frost on my window, cascading flurries swirl
|
| In the twilight’s melancholy hue
|
| Beside me on the nightstand, a vaporizer sings
|
| An aqueous lullaby the whole night through
|
| They say that faith can cure you and time heals many woes
|
| I’ll sleep and be reborn when I awake
|
| Resume my happy duties and bear the easy yoke |
| Tomorrow I’ll feel better than today |