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Eugene Field - The Convalescent Gripster
Work rating: Low

The gods let slip that fiendish grip
    Upon me last week Sunday--
No fiercer storm than racked my form
    E`er swept the Bay of Fundy;
  But now, good-by
  To drugs, say I--
    Good-by to gnawing sorrow;
  I am up to-day,
  And, whoop, hooray!
    I`m going out to-morrow!

What aches and pain in bones and brain
    I had I need not mention;
It seemed to me such pangs must be
    Old Satan`s own invention;
  Albeit I
  Was sure I`d die,
    The doctor reassured me--
  And, true enough,
  With his vile stuff,
    He ultimately cured me.

As there I lay in bed all day,
    How fair outside looked to me!
A smile so mild old Nature smiled
    It seemed to warm clean through me.
  In chastened mood
  The scene I viewed,
    Inventing, sadly solus,
  Fantastic rhymes
  Between the times
    I had to take a bolus.

Of quinine slugs and other drugs
    I guess I took a million--
Such drugs as serve to set each nerve
    To dancing a cotillon;
  The doctors say
  The only way
    To rout the grip instanter
  Is to pour in
  All kinds of sin--
    Similibus curantur!

`Twas hard; and yet I`ll soon forget
    Those ills and cures distressing;
One`s future lies `neath gorgeous skies
    When one is convalescing!
  So now, good-by
  To drugs say I--
    Good-by, thou phantom Sorrow!
  I am up to-day,
  And, whoop, hooray!
    I`m going out to-morrow.
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