When I Am Ill- Listen When I am ill, I go to bed And on the pillow lay my head. The doctor comes and says, “Dear me, Whatever can the matter be?” He feels my pulse and sees my tongue, He tests my heart and then each lung; He asks how old I am, and then He takes his paper and his pen And makes a note of things that taste So horrid, that I'm sure it's waste To take them. But he says “Each noon Take this, and you'll be better soon.”
When I Am Ill- Listen When I am ill, I go to bed And on the pillow lay my head. The doctor comes and says, “Dear me, Whatever can the matter be?” He feels my pulse and sees my tongue, He tests my heart and then each lung; He asks how old I am, and then He takes his paper and his pen And makes a note of things that taste So horrid, that I'm sure it's waste To take them. But he says “Each noon Take this, and you'll be better soon.”
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And so I do as I am told, I take my medicine, though cold. I drink my tea and eat my toast, And try to rest and not to boast Of all the things I used to do When I was well and feeling new. But now I must just lie in bed And wait until my aches have fled. And though it's hard to be so still, I know that soon I'll be uphill. For with each passing day, I see That I am getting better, me. So I'll take my medicine with cheer And know that soon I'll be in the clear.