a poem by Edwin Keith Jepson, UK - poetry writer, author, poet

Being ill in bed,
Is not what I recommend,
Think of all those lonely hours,
The patient has to spend,
Lying there in discomfort,
With a fever and aching brain,
And waiting for the Doctor,
To visit them again,
They may have mumps, or measles,
Or even pharyngitis,
And then it could be flu,
And then there's tonsilitis,
Theres headache, toothache, backache,
And there's lots more I could say
But for the time being,
I'll leave that for today,
You see I'm very ill,
And confined to my bed,
But being sort of curious,
I heard what the Doctor said,
He told my Wife to be discreet,
And advised her not to panic,
Because his diagnosis was,
He's just a 'Hypocondriac',

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