CAN YOU CURE ME?
Having been struck down
By this peculiar illness
I am wondering
Which way to turn
How this crafty bug
Got its grip on me
Has me worried
And is a great concern
I am suffering
From a bout of romanticism
Now there's
A name to diagnose
Seized in the fingers
Of passions sweet light
Visions that enrapture
With the scent of rose
And now
My days slip by
In a pink
Frosted bubble
My once
Sensible eyes
Are discovering sight
That is making me see double
I really really am ill
Oh please, is there a pill
My sense has flown
And oh boy, am I in trouble!
Vote for this poem
|
|
