This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.

Dear honey toast, my happy toast,
I need you in my tum.
You're something sweet and wholesome
When the world's run out my bum.

The Norovirus is a pain
Suffusing my whole being.
My tummy hurts and groans a lot,
With legs and back agreeing.

I'm at the other end of it,
In more ways than just one;
My bum's been busy, my tummy scoured;
The nutrients have all gone.

The hunger pangs are rather like
The Norovirus cramping.
I don't know where to put myself;
It's been constant toilet camping.

I need some food inside, I think,
Although the thought's not fun.
I know! That's right! I love you, toast
With honey, liquid sun.

The wholemeal bread is toasted hot,
A crunchy layer waiting
For me to add my honey sun,
And hunger, I'll be sating.

Oh! Lemon tea and sunshine toast,
I hope that I'll get well;
Dear honey, be my antidote
To Norovirus hell.

For my poor tummy that's so bereft,
My medicine is this:
Healing honey, healthy stuff,
A sweet and golden kiss.

My body, hear me now, I plead:
"I have to work tomorrow.
Accept this honey's blessed gold,
Remove my bottom's sorrow."

And maybe I will get well now,
I've lost what day's today.
I pray thee, honey, bloomin' work
Or there's more hell to pay.

Dear honey toast, my happy toast,
My hopes all rest on you;
Don't let me down, please make me well
And bring me solid poo!

Amen.

This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.