The cold is so old
and ancient with rage-
Its victims quite random
from idiot to sage
No matter the season
without rhyme or reason
this virus of goon
can fell you in June!
It grabs by the throat,
you feel that weird tickle-
Doesn’t care whom it touches,
like I said, it’s plain fickle
Though you struggle and twitch
in your nostrils it sits-
This is only a sniffle
you proclaim, just a piffle!
But in no time at all
Your immune drops the ball-
With misery you’re down,
The nose like a clown
Miserable and red
like balloons in your head-
You’re sneezing & wheezing
And taken to bed.
You’ve entered its portal
And proved to be mortal
There is no escaping
The occasional partaking. . .
This cold is so old
I sound like a frog
Oh get me more tissues
And bring me some grog!
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