My mother said, what ails you now?
She pulled my eye and palmed my brow
Then checked my pulse and pondered why
So seldom ailments pass me by
I never saw the like of you
Misfortune clings like morning dew
It’s there and then it disappears
Again – it catches unawares
One day you’re running like the stag
Soon after, you’re as if in chains
You shuffle, cough, an ancient child
And then again you’re running wild
I am perplexed, as you must know
The doctor coughs and spits and blows
Consults his book and mutters low
An awful eejit, doesn’t know
So what am I to do with you
But let you go and let you grow
And put my trust in Providence
And say a prayer, what ails you goes.