Ode to a Headache

O Headache, thou art a silent warrior, with a crown of thorny rose,

That tightens with an iron grip, from my temples to my nose.

Thy subjects, we, in futile fight, do seek to ease our plight,

With potions, pills, and whispered spells, in the dimming of the light.

“Ode to a Headache," I do declare, with a wry and weary smile,

For this royal pain within my head has lingered quite a while.

It taps upon my temples, a relentless, throbbing beat,

A reminder of the night before, and all that I did eat.

The chocolate was a villain, red wine played its part,

Each a merry prankster in the throbbing of my heart.

But fear not, for this tale does hold a twist or two,

For I've found a secret weapon, a potion tried and true.

With water as my ally, and rest to lead the charge,

I'll banish this foul jester, and set my brain at large.