1982
Here I lie in my own sick bed-
Oh, how could this happen to me?
I haven’t the time to be sick like this.
“Let me up!” I haughtily decree.
But here I lie- “I don’t feel so good.”
(My chest gives a painful wheeze).
Yet across the field is the place I work-
Oh, work is an awful tease!
Why, I remember just a week ago
I was finishing up for the day.
With a stack of work upon my desk.
“Oh, finish me, please,” it would say.
So I carted it home (that’s not my style),
And I worked with true speed and grace,
Forgetting that work is to be done at work
And home is my own private place.
But I didn’t forget that my home takes work, too.
So I cleaned it and washed all the clothes.
Then I took the girls out for a romp in the snow.
(Our fingers and toes nearly froze).
As I lie here now and think quietly back
(Used Kleenex are piled on the floor),
I recall how my days have been filled to the brim.
I could not have done any more.
“How can I be sick?” There are things to be done.
There is more work undetected.
But “Ah ha!” I say as I sniff and blow,
“One thing I have neglected.”
To be as sick as this must show
Healthy thoughts have been too few
And when my health has been neglected,
Then health shall have its due.
So here I lie in my own sick state,
Planning my days ahead
With a page called “For My Body,”
So I don’t end up back in bed.