- Books, Literature, and Writing
For What Ails You (a poem of Mirth)
It is the season for us to be jolly,
And hopefully without any folly.
A little mirth surely never hurts,
If in our laughter, each of us flirts.
So let's chase away that old flu,
No rougher trip for me and you.
Just take two aspirins. that is all.
And without a single doctor to call.