FEVER

When I was a feverish young boy
on a bed

I dreamt I was writing inside
of my head.

The words swirled &
spread

like I was going to be
dead.

As my temperature
rose

So did the wondrous
prose.

It felt like I was writing
a good book

As my sick and hot body
shook & shook.

As soon as my fever went
away

I went outside and began
to play.