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 Annapolis
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.)