My poetry blogging, I do all the time,
is making my real life, start to rhyme.
In the doctor’s room, I quietly wait,
I’m always early, don’t like to be late.
My name’s called out, I enter the room,
Wondering what next, diagnosis will loom.
She asks how I’ve been, since last time we met,
this is when, my mind starts to fret.
It seems I now cope, by a way that’s absurd,
by making sure, I rhyme my last word.
As our chat went on, I noticed her smile,
my conversation had rhymed, for quite a while.
My problems were morbid, painful and sad,
she knew I was down and feeling bad.
With smiling eyes and a helpful grin,
she knows I need healing, from within.
Prescription wrote out, I’d used up my time,
my doc said goodbye, with her own little rhyme.
“Take care of yourself, make sure you rest,
next time we meet, you’ll be at your best.”