A flummoxed state of being
A blessing in disguise
A fevered mind thinks of freeing
A vision from its tear stained eyes.
In a darkened room
Loudly from within
I groan from gloom, I moan with doom
The questions now begin.
To be or not to be
Incarcerate or flee
To be or not to be
Influenza vexes me.
Phlegm soaked tissues; swollen glands
A body damp with fevered sweat
Needs the tender care of loving hands
To pacify the knife of flu’s regret.
by Mildred Ratched
