There shines the first light of the night
One bright spot in the pale blue sky
I'll make a wish, if it's alright
Lord help, I feel like I'm going to die.
I'm coughing my lungs out
I'm sore and shaking.
Save me, I shout
from this fitful half-waking.
Weary, I pull myself out of my bed
imprisoned by fears, heavy with dread.
"Not my will but your will be done."
So I repeat the words of your Son.
Forgive if it's just mere rote;
I meant to mean what I wrote.
Prayer in Pneumonia
Tale Told 