Cup Full of Hate
(Fever Cure)
When I was just a young lad,
and one respected ones
mum and dad!
An annual visitor
uninvited befelled one’s youth,
an infliction born of
distempered walls
and arctic drafts.
The doctor would be called
to staidly produce an opinion,
“Seven days indoors”
Before proceeding to scribble
in Latin, my wholesome cure,
“A cure to endure”
If only to fix one’s redemption.
Each day the prescribed tonic,
equaled one quarter of a cup
with the instructions to sip
slowly “Oh! So slowly” While
my mother’s brown eyes
never once left my agonizing
plight, the taste indescribable,
yet a remnant of memory
tells one, it could dwell
in this very ink,
I write with today!
© Harry J Horsman 2005
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