Fever Bones Poem by Chester Maynes
Fever Bones
I hate it
This weakness
This sickness
In confinement
Away from the sun
On bed
Unproductive
The food is bland
I feel the throbbing
Of every inch in my body
Unwanted sensation
Like needles nipping me
Rest is cure
I close my eyes
Sleep is disturbed
This will pass
This will end
(written on July 16,2011 Singapore)
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Topic(s) of this poem: july,weakness
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8/27/2026 10:55:37 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
This will end obviously..well said