Minutus

Oh the slow comer from the sea,
Illnesses are varied from thee:

Child boreth with fingers the eyes,
Feeleth in water it lies:

Sneezeth with cough and Urine when,
Rubs thy face with fist then:

Draft gives thee a cold,
Fills the chest of the old

Thy body is hot,
But thy hands and feet are not

Spots red and small remain
that torment with pricking pain:

Rest is what you demand,
Sore foot is what thou get when you stand:

Passeth water at night,
large it is in sight:

( HUMBLE APOLOGIES TO STACY)

Venkat

--- Ardavan Shahrdar wrote: >

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