A (light-hearted) poem I wrote before I knew 'twas Lyme

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Jives on Hives

Margie Roswell

July 23, 1999

I am the red-splotched woman!

I've spots where you can't see.

It's not contagious (so the doc says.)

Pity poor red me.

* * * * * * *

I'd rather be swimming

Close to polis

Than swallow that powder

Which they call bee propolis.

And I'd rather know it were the case

That hives belonged to bees

Yes, siree, my dear friend,

Than they belonged to me!

* * * * * *

Well-read

and well-red.

(Better red, I say,

Than dead.)

Better red, than grateful dead.

Inflamed, and red and itchy:

Caveat this verse's fate

(We know what rhymes with itchy.)

These spots of hot won't last forever

So be not too concerned, my friend.

And worry not, I'll not long bore ya':

This poem's found its end.

Heave, ho, hives! Away ye go!

Begone, and come no more.

I want the skin I used to have!

The End.

(This time I'm sure.)

--

Margie Roswell

3443 Guilford Terrace

Baltimore, MD 21218

H: 410-467-3727

W: 410-455-6802

E: mroswell@...

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