On Monday, Delilah, not feeling her best,
requested to sit down and steal a short rest.
On Tuesday, Delilah was heard to exclaim,
“I’m mainly concerned with the state of my brain.”
On Wednesday, Delilah collapsed as she said,
“I dread it, but please lead me up to my bed.”
On Thursday, Delilah whose symptoms grew worse,
whispered, “I’m cursed! Someone send for a nurse.”
On Friday, Delilah’s nurse ended the day
by saying, “Our only hope now is to pray.”
Saturday took the whole family’s strength.
“That spook’s not Delilah,” they all said at length.
Then Sunday at five when Delilah awoke,
revived, but mutated, her dear sister spoke:
“Although you have changed, sweet Delilah, I’ll strive
to make some arrangements to keep you alive.
And though you’ve evolved into something bizarre,
I love you, Delilah . . . whatever you are.”
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