In Sickness

   At four in the morning
   Day is not dawning
But the robin is glooming his song,
   Pitch-dark surrounded,
   Sounding astounded
That dawn is taking so long.

   Through my feverish dreaming

   His stutter is streaming
Like someone tapping a gong;
   By illness bewounded
   My fretting abounded
That February’s frosts are long.

   But come the year’s brimming

   When the robin is hymning
And life and limb are strong,
   My spirits rebounded
   And ill-thoughts ungrounded,
Summer’s healths will be long!

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© February 2015