Poor Owl, you have my sympathies,
It's not nice to be sick,
The causes could have been many,
You can take your pick.
Perhaps it was your nocturnal habits,
Staying up oh so late,
It plays havoc with your body,
The effects are far from great.
Or maybe it was some atmoic beer,
Served chilled in The Glow,
That stuff can make you hurl mightily,
It's bad for you, you know.
Or maybe it was a type of bug,
Coming doen the phone line,
Those callers can be evil,
They do it all the time.
Perhaps you are developing an allergy,
Even though you often feel fine,
You may be allergic to stupid people,
You meet them all the time.
Or maybe it's an avarian thing,
Affecting creatures of the night,
Some parasitic tick or flea,
Or fluke or work or mite.
Or maybe it's your ravaged body,
Telling you to stop,
Sick of you working so diligently,
On spammers that you stop.
But what worries me is the timing,
With sickness that is mild,
The nausea and the lethargy,
Are you sure you're not "with child".

:)

Get well soon. I'll add a roo tail to Doom's soup.

Cheers from the Land of Oz