Category: Poetry
I have been ill, and I was really bad,
I have exhausted the chemist's nearby,
But still I was growing paler and thinner, —
All the medicines were in vain.
Time was passing. I had to got to hospital,
But even here I was wasting away in the anguish of illness.
It was the wrong illness:
Mot the body, but the soul should be healed.
And this understood one
Girl, my new doctor on the ward:
She fortified my heart
With glances and a pleasant smile.
Well, I was also physically ill
At the time,
But the doctor's glance identified
The major illness and the means to treat it.
November 02, 1943