Sense Sonnet - Chiller

 Just Imagine

I was in bed, ill, when she came.

The wife had medicine to give,

But I knew foul play was her aim.

The wife did not want me to live.

I knew she'd found someone else to

Take my place and to share my wealth.

Bedridden, nothing I could do.

Death would be blamed on my ill health.

She had plotted a wicked scheme.

Alas, there was no hope for me.

Then I awoke from this bad dream,

And such relief I felt there be.

The last thing I wanted to hear,

"Time to take your medicine, dear."