Sickness, oh the miserable sickness
The light kind that springs up from
God knows where or why.
It is this sickness, that made me stay home,
Day by day, coughing up green stuff and god knows what else
But it is this sickness, this feverish torment
That allowed me to take time for myself
For you see, since this morning
in feverish, dream-state fervor:
I picked up a crochet needle,
I have drawn works of charcoal,
I have finished a book,
I have planned out my summer,
Planted roses that will live for-ever,
And written pages of poems
I have been blessed with the time to do the things i love
Without the stress of having to do the things I hate.
Now, do you understand, why we should think
That sickness is not torment, but a beloved Fate?