Mr Hypochondria Poem by ann rta

I went to see a Doctor,
He was a clever chap.
He listened, looked, examined,
Pulsated, poked and tapped.

He sat me on the couch,
And asked me lots of questions.
What did I think was wrong?
Had I any good suggestions.

I thought it over carefully,
Before I spoke out my replies,
And then I told him thoughtfully,
What was leading to my demise.

He nodded very sagely
Agreed I might be right,
But did not want me worrying,
Working myself into a fright.

Though I wasn't very well,
I also, wasn't very ill.
All my aches and pains
Would go with a blue pill.

It has a latin name,
Placebo or placebain,
And gosh, it has worked wonders,
I'm now as right as rain!