A Poem To Barbra Ort Poem by Oliver .........

Despite being all thing
Well and good, something,
Something went wrong in the
Quarter of my duodenum as
The winter came on and, children
Were romping in the nearby
Heath! Now nothing can be asked
About; for things are mechanical
Or, medicinal, and easement is what
All permitted!
The surgeon's
Knife and scalpel will tell out
Everything in discreet manner,
As one can look on at the bad
Things to make out if it's safe
Or unsecure! The choice being
Always one, here one fights out
For the right answer, being bed-ridden
With an insipid taste for being in
Chicago or, Manhattan. Ofcourse,
It's not easy, though taut in the
Readiness for glory and pride,
After being beleagured like
A zombie for weeks off Africa!