My first-aid Box

My first-aid box isn’t a

Pandora’s box,

Nor a Hippocrates’ skills engrained!

It’s 

My Mother’s lap

When life seems so wrong ;

My Father’s hands so soft,

Above my head,

To be more strong;

My Sisters’ compatriotism in

Deeds gilded with pranks;

My Brother’s nuisance ideas

To act his love’s ward;

My Grandma’s indulgence 

When Mother says no;

My Grandpa’s raged eyes

When I use his gold pen that glows;

My Friends’ friendship at times,

Bad and good;

My Room-mates’ drunken selves

For their loves, lost and gained;

Your warm loving self,

To cure my ills!

So, let me again fall very sick!