Heal Thyself O Patient: Part I

Two scores of ripe years ere, remember I, At shower or at shaving, soothing hair, Bending my elbow turned when painful nigh, I wondered whence this hurt had tip-toed ere Unknown to me, as seasons oft set in Before we know, till one day truth we see, And tune into the change if not so keen; More than the pain the ailment annoyed me. And the medic I met cool was as I, Tad too sure, called it a tennis elbow, And cavilled I, not having played the game, Muffling a suppressed laugh and politely, He, with air of Socrates let me know: Forget name, thorn by any pain's the same. _________________________________________________ This is a sequence of nine sonnets on one theme. See the note at end of the last poem. ________________________________________________________ Sonnets | 03.11.12 | Topic: body, nature, healing, doctor, patient