When The Old Man's Ailin' - Poem by Eugenia Reilly
When I am ill, I lay in bed,
my soft, down pillow, under my head,
the soft sweet scent of camphor oil,
as my ol' friend the vaporizer starts to boil,
I stays warm and cozy all through
but when he is sick, good God in heaven,
what a fright!
He moans and bellows somethin' fearful!
Me and the neighbors get quite an earful!
He's mopin' around like the walkin' dead,
making me yell, 'God, take me instead! '
So's when I see he's got that feverish look,
I jump in the car, with my favorite book,
and head straight down to the beach side motel,
and deliver myself from his ailin' hell.
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