The cast is off,
My hand is sore.
I won't complain
And be a bore.
It's better
Than it was before,
The cast is off,
My hand is sore.
When the right is healed,
They'll fix the left.
No need for feeling
Sad or bereft.
Soon it will be
All lithe and deft,
When the right is healed,
They'll fix the left.
And now I must leave,
So sad to go,
But I will return,
Though my typing is slow.
I'll post again, soon,
Keep you all in the know,
But now I must leave,
So sad to go.
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