How about a poem called Cough, Snort, and Wheeze?
Her dreams are bad
And when she wakes,
Her throat is raw,
Her left ear aches
Her mood is cranky,
Her brain is soggy
Her body's hurting
Her movements loggy
As you can guess it?
Fiorella's sick,
And she darn well better
Get well quick! Posted by Fiorella Plum at 8:53 am, January 31, 2009
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Maternal Eternal
As Fiorella was putting away groceries, she picked up a ten pound bag of birdseed and automatically cradled it in her arms to distribute the weight. Immediately a pang of longing raced through her. The birdseed felt exactly like a baby in arms. And it's a wonder she didn't start lactating.
Fio adores babies, which is a little odd because her mother didn't. "I prefer children when they're older and you can teach them things," Mother explained.
Your girl likes people whatever, but she still has a special feeling for babies.
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Nursing Home Visit
I am so tempted not to visit him,
The zombie in my father's form--
He does not know me
He does not miss me,
He is not my father
But oh, he is, he is
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