Head; heavy, hot, quaking as from a furious party

Of inebriated demons in a drumming session

Unable to effectively coordinate the Sensitive Four

Their weights, once not challenges worth considering

Eyes; blurred, dim sight

Unable to juggle light and dark for good vision

Ears; totally asleep

Sounds hold no meaning nor respite

Nostrils; wheezing, sneezing and blocked

Painless and stress-less air breathing

Become arduous, like drawing liquid from ice through straw

Mouth; instrument of taste and talk

Gummed shut from lack of use

Galled, rendering tasteless all mouthy pleasures

Limbs; lagging, limp and lacking luster

Unfit for purpose at the moment of infirm

Every step an odious effort in trudgery

Quakes and aches from every ball and socket

Mind; drugged and askew from discomfiture

Manured ground for hallucinations

Making the grim reaper seem ever so close

From eyes stinging with hot tears,

Trickling to sleeping ears,

To nose sniffling in close quarters,

Gummed mouths moan in misery, seeking deliverance

From the unjustified proximity to a glimpse of beyond

Such is the sad song of the infirm

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