I languish here the prisoner of a putrid poultry pox
Contracted on a visit to a lunch,
From a chubby round-faced infant with softly curling locks;
He's tiny, but he packs a powerful punch.

My unsympathetic husband says I should stay out of sight
With these spots upon my body, limbs and face;
There's never now a hug or kiss or friendly loving bite,
This pox has put my skin in deep disgrace.

While with this fearsome festering I'm in my bedroom boxed,
At least I know I shan't grow any bigger;
For my appetite's so tiny - so although my face is poxed,
I know it's doing marvels for my figure!