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Poetry by Alastair McIntyre
Ill in Bed


Ill in bed is no joke
Dependant on all kinds of folk
They fetch and carry all the time
So your inclinned to say your fine.

How are you feeling now they ask
Oh much better, kind of you to ask
Come now, why did you say that?
You know you feel much worse than that.

Next time they ask "How are you"
Tell them the truth about the flu
Your feeling poorly and not at all well
In fact you feel worse truth to tell.

But in the end what do you say
To those kind folk day by day
That fetch and carry all the time
Thank for for asking, I'm feeling fine.


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