The Hopeful Cure

The Hopeful Cure

Copyright © March 12, 2017 by Douglas W. Jerving.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the author, except as provided by USA copyright law.

I'm not going to bed tonight.
I may sleep but it will be upright.
My head on my desk until daylight.

Then after dawn breaks, a hot bath.
Eucalyptus or what stuff we hath.
Steam out my lungs of this bad wrath.

If I lay it will gather again.
No tea, gin or silver, all vain,
Restore my good breath or sustain

My hope to wake next day all healed.
Instead, my days, now long congealed,
Were as my lungs had been corn mealed.

The cough is dry and rips my throat
But better that than to recoat
My lungs with slime like King James' mote

To which the witches, never kneeled,
Would fall to drown and ne’er to float.


Doug Jerving is the publisher of the You may contact him at


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