She is too ill today
Not a day to feel poetic
Virus laid fever’s prey
Pray work the antibiotic.

Her eyes today in weakness closed
Her head sunk in pillow
Verses are dry in a mind morose
Pains her face in fever’s glow.

At six o’clock I whispered to her
Time for the antibiotic
She saw me in a hazed blur
Not a word she could speak.

Teatime came she didn’t get up
I still made it for two
In trembling hand she held the cup
She couldn’t refuse my brew.

Gnaws me despair when she’s ill
Still a novice at basic kitchen work
Never learned the skill to make the day’s meal
Where are things I ***** in the dark.

She says feels no good to lie down like this
My fever is gone with the sweat
I know for anything she would ever miss
Seeing me off at the gate!