He was feeling a bit  under the weather, he said,

And thought that a cup of hot tea would be nice,

Perhaps laced with lemon and a dollop of honey,

And could I make tapioca (from scratch & with spice?)

Could I hand him the remote? he weakly implored,

He ached far too much to get up;

And while I was at it, could I make chicken soup

And bring it to him on a tray, in a cup?

As I reached for the door, he asked for the Kleenex,

And did I know where the cough drops might be?

If it wasn’t too much, could I make him some custard?

That is, whenever I was free?

I made him some soup, carried trays in and out,

Until I was absolutely ready to drop

By evening, he was up and rarin’ to go,

While I simply wanted to flop….

So I reheated soup and buttered some crackers,

And made myself a cup of hot tea,

For, isn’t it true, that when wives and mothers get sick….

There’s no one to wait on…..but me.

Sandra Lee Smith

Written September 18, 2009/updated June 11, 2018




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