The Common Cold

A cold is so depressing,
it makes one’s spirits low,
Coughing, sweating, sneezing,
one’s breath is drawn and slow.
The throat, though sore is itchy,
the eyes like swimming pools,
The nose described as “whiskey like”,
is red and burning too.
The only consolation ,
it’s there since time began,
For rich and poor and pauper,
fall victim to its fangs.
It’s nature’s way to clear our tubes,
our eyes and ears and nose,
And so the Maker saw to this,
He invented the common cold.

Copyright Máiréad Tuohy Duffy (C)2004