Convalescence

Drinking more than six men
And talking more than twelve,
The man with a seer of a monkey
Goes about from inn to inn

Inquiring of the number of customers
Within, just as a happy coincidence.
I'm with him. What will become
Of me, I hope he answers nicely.

This is the ancient meaning of invalid
In several antique tongues. The head
Hangs heavily as unloved fruit
On the narrowing neck of the saint

Whose future is the answer
A madman elicits from a con artist
And his prognosticating monkey.
You see? said Don Quixote,

Displeased with his own prognosis.
Read a lot, ride a lot, see a lot,
Fall off your scrawny horse plenty,
You'll die saintly. Me, I feel better already