footprints in the earth.....
Sickbed
I lay,I lay,I rather not
this shaking fever all for what
I pray for medicine to overwhelm
these irritating parasites,my will so firm
I know of course I will survive
my will is sure my life must thrive
my eyes are closed open yet again
I feel such disturbing subtle pain
I write,I write I must not yield
A mind as vast as and open field
the fruit of which the ink must bear
words on paper rhyme to hear
I think of the past present and future
of God of heaven and every creature
I arise,I arise I have won
the joy of health,the task is done
and in future I will remember what is to be said
while laying on another poet's sickbed
the poet is ill with malaria waiting to recover.
this shaking fever all for what
I pray for medicine to overwhelm
these irritating parasites,my will so firm
I know of course I will survive
my will is sure my life must thrive
my eyes are closed open yet again
I feel such disturbing subtle pain
I write,I write I must not yield
A mind as vast as and open field
the fruit of which the ink must bear
words on paper rhyme to hear
I think of the past present and future
of God of heaven and every creature
I arise,I arise I have won
the joy of health,the task is done
and in future I will remember what is to be said
while laying on another poet's sickbed
the poet is ill with malaria waiting to recover.
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Sickbed
Sickbed
