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Forgive the Poor
"Predni-Zoner"
By Beverly Nason
I cry salty tears, at the littlest thing,
Or I laugh right out loud, with pure glee.
Then suddenly someone is screaming at you
And I just can't believe that it's
me!
You know that I often don't mean what I say.
And I tend to say things that are mean,
When we've hunted for hours for the thing that YOU LOST.
Then it's found in MY chair, when we clean.
You can't understand why I always want food.
Though I try to control what I eat,
I am fat, and I'm always in some kind of mood,
And I can't get my shoes on my feet.
A banana'd be jealous of delicate
me.
I'm bruised from my head to my toes.
Whenever I trip, my poor heart skips a beat.
On X-ray, my codfish spine shows.
The cure for my problem is simple enough.
Stop the steroids. They're driving me mad!
But the prednisone answers a medical need
And my doc thinks, "It can't be that bad."
When I peer out at you, through these cataract eyes,
I will try hard to see things more clearly.
I pray you'll be patient, though now I'm no prize,
For you must know that I love you dearly
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Myasthenia
Gravis 
