By Anonymous

Lieing restlessly in bed,
Feeling blue but I’m red.
Blanketed in dots and colour,
No empty spot left to cover.
Sun is what you’d call my face,
Bright and swollen, burning in flames.
Reluctant and irritated,
Itchy and contaminated.
Fed up and drowsy and drained,
Waiting for magic to cure my stains.
Tablets, syrups, name the lot,
For I have been greeted by chickenpox!

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