Such a nuisance, what are they for?

I went to the doctor; he smiled and nodded,

“Please say, Ah!” he probed and prodded,

He diagnosed with thoughtful care,

Then turned to the bookcase behind his chair.

He withdrew a bible; this made me nervous,

Would he read the burial service?

No, not the bible but a catalogue,

Of drugs and remedies, his memory to jog.

As he read, his lips moved slightly,

Tiny print, his tired eyes scanned tightly.

Soon he found the elusive pills

That he thought might cure my ills.

This good man of mercy had prescribed for me

From the glands of an innocent, murdered monkey.

He also prescribed some strong painkillers,

Against effects unintended by drug distillers.

I thanked him then walked down his path,

Then paused in his garden to chat and laugh,

With the doctor’s wife dressed in her gardening attire,

Who was burning weeds on a small bonfire.

In her hands a bunch of red clover,

Its power to heal proved over and over.

A blood cleanser and cancer aid,

Just for the picking, no price paid.

Bunched together with the common nettle,

Used to make arthritic pains settle,

Into the flames with deft speed,

To burn to ashes with chickweed,

A plant for ulcers, and sore eyes,

Renowned for healing wounds and styes.

Many more went up in smoke,

Whilst we shared a little joke.

I bid the doctor’s wife “Good day”.

Then as I turned to move away.

She remarked, “Weeding I find is such a bore,

Such a nuisance what are they for?”

David Brittain .

Ascension Support Team. David and Yvonne Brittain

France

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