A Quadrennial Complaint

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Large beads of sweat rolled down her face,
Her brow was red and burning.
But still she kept that rhythmic pace,
Just turning, turning, turning.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Around her now quite matted head,
She whirled that teacup quickly,
Until she fell down on the bed,
Demeanour pale and sickly.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 They called the doctor to decide
What treatment would relieve ‘er.
“I’m sorry, there’s no cure,” he sighed,
“You see, it’s Whirled Cup Fever.”



Only a month to go.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/a-quadrennial-complaint/