Lumbered With The Flu Poem by Charles M Moore

My temperature is rising
I feel my body ache
cold sweat is forming on my brow
my body starts to shake
my mind seems in a muddle
I wonder what to do
I hate these winter seasons
when I'm lumbered with the flu

Pills rattle round my tonsils
and hot drinks scorch my throat
I'm housebound in my bedroom
which ain't good if you're a poet
I like to see the sun and stars
and trees with lovely views
I hate these winter seasons
when I'm lumbered with the flu

I'm sure the sky's still out there
although my shades are drawn
I'm sure the grass is green
and birds still sing the same old songs
I'll try to be more positive
I'm sure that I'll pull through
but I hate these winter seasons
when I'm lumbered with the flu.