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