When I was young, gave it no thought;

why did father always twitch and turn?

Degenerative arthritis, what an onslaught;

now it's my turn, it's worse than sunburn.

I was laying in bed when I thought of this poem;

twitchin' and turnin', can't sleep so I'll record.

Oh that inflammation, maybe in my chromosome;

losing way too much sleep, way too much discord.

Got it in my back, my neck, my hands and feet;

hope I can hang a curtain, and that's for certain.

I'm so very hopeful that I'll never become offbeat;

things like this might bring about dreaded seclusion.

Made it through the night, got a little rest;

just a bit stiff but I think I'll be alright.

Come to think of it, I surely must be blest;

made it through another night, received the daylight.

When I was young, gave it no thought;

why did father always twitch and turn?

It was handed down, not really for naught;

some pain ya just can't spurn in your sojourn.