I have a disease called
                  The “lovetobutcants”—
                  I think it’s time I told it.
                  I’d love to help with that garbage can
                  But my fingers just can’t hold it.
                  Hand me a bag of groceries and
                  My wrists just turn to jelly.
                  Cuttin’ grass and hedges
                  Gives me flutters of the belly.
                  The smell of paint will make me faint,
                  Sweat makes my eyes start itchin’.
                  Dishwater on my little hands
                  Will start ‘em shaky-twitchin’.
                  Pickin’ clothes up off the floor
                  Would paralyze my shoulder.
                  I must not try to close a door,
                  At least not till I’m older.
                  So though I’d love to join the work—
                  Till this disease is done,
                  I’ll have to lie here in the shade
                  While you have all the fun.