Aw, Come ON!

 Things are really messed up with my left leg; it finally fractured at the metastasis in the femur, and walking any distance (like, one step) takes everything I have.

So no apologies for the sonnet below. It pretty well reflests the you've-got-to-be-KIDDING! mood.

It has seemed so very long,

at least that's how it seems to me,

and now it's like the Beach Boys song

about the troubled Sloop John B,

whose singer and his old grandpa

through Nassau town did fighting roam,

and falling afoul of law

just really wants to head for home,

and I can understand the feeling,

because my leg, it fin'ly broke,

and I don't really look appealing,

as with staff and sandals (it's no joke)

I gimp under the desert sky,

like some bearded Bible guy.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is WEIGHT.

It's now one of my best friends

in this really painful state,

tennis balls fixed to both ends 

and thick enough to bear my weight.

It's 'bout four feet, a little more,

and it is never out of reach

unless I want to hit the floor 

(My, oh, my, what pride can teach

when I think it's just a short way,

so why must I retrieve my staff,

and then as on the floor I lay

I hear the saints and angels laugh

that they've really seen it all,

how pride doth go before the fall.).

Three minutes and a bit.

And here, for your listening pleasure, is Sloop John B 

Sylvia thinks it rather funny, actually. She had a broken leg when we got here; why am I  complaining?