by Sara Teasedale
Every night I lie awake
   And every day I lie abed
And hear the doctors, Pain and Death,
   Conferring at my head.
They speak in scientific tones,
   Professional and low—
One argues for a speedy cure,
   The other, sure and slow.
To one so humble as myself
   It should be matter for some pride
To have such noted fellows here,
   Conferring at my side.

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