Being Sick

I always hated being sick,
And would get angry at my body
For giving out on me
And letting me down.
I never could accept
That part of being human
That had me catch
Whatever was going around.
Generally when I get sick
It is obvious that I failed
To take good care of myself
And simply wore myself down.
I am not one for taking drugs
To fight the symptoms
But neither am I one
Who likes languishing in bed.
It always seemed
That the doctor would say
Take these pills
And it will disappear in 3 to 4 days.
But if I didn’t take the medicine
Or heed his advice,
It still took three to four days
For me to shake that flu.
I know I have the tendency
To try to keep on going,
And to ignore the obvious,
That it takes time to mend.
During times like these
A steamy bowl of chicken soup
And a little love and care
Will go a long, long ways.
Still there is an old widower’s tale
That claims that I can’t get rid of my flu
Until I find someone to give it to,
So would you be a friend to me?