In Sickness and In Health
And here I am that knows myself the sick,
that no other soul tastes the wounds I lick,
How blind they are to the pain I feel,
My skin away they quietly peel.
I know stoutly that if my wounds be heal,
If indeed my scars then truly conceal,
I’ll more to tend the affairs of the ill,
I’ll bid him well that swallows the pill.
Realize life as not that I deserve,
Recognize the gift from thine great reserve.
And if I do get to stray paths that cross,
And you speak verily my life is yours,
Why, here I am that knows myself the sick,
With this grateful life do as thine truly please.
The poem may sound weird cps I was trying to adhere to meters. Thanks.
Writing with meter is tricky - well done! :)