Poetry Corner: Shelley's Sickness Poem

Your chest is congested, your whole head aches,
It's like someone's trying to stone ya.
So you're much too sick, plus I'm too far,
for me to come up there and bone ya.
So if there's anything I can do from here,
just say the word and I'll phone ya.
In the meantime, you get lots of rest,
so this doesn't turn into pneumonia.