Saved By a Book
Being sick is such a drag.
Your spirits sag, the hours lag;
But if you have the perfect book,*
Your bed becomes a cozy nook.
The pages turn, the chapters fly.
You’ll wonder why, as time goes by,
You can’t indulge in such delight
When you are feeling quite all right.
Alas, you’ve reached the dread “The End.”
You must pretend you’re on the mend.
Tomorrow looms with hours to kill
And no new book to fill the bill.
*All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr
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