Fly, you fools!
It is the Cold
The foe of old
He whom no hath hold
Fool is he who uttereth:
"I managed to dodge the cold for this season!"
'Tis he who hath abandoned reason!
It shall strike him down
And that smile
Shall turn to a frown
Beware the Cold!
The foe of old.
Utter His name without respect
Lest ye your health neglect
And mucus and snot's
dreary, drippy nose
ye forgot
Yea, only one elixir holds the key
To render you phlegmatically free
The olden brew
The olden cuppa
Redoubtable, prodigious tea!
From ancient clime
Doth ring the chime
'Tis tea time
The bells of doom are upon thee
Foul, old, hoary, stuffy Cold
Foe of the old
Cease thus thy hold
On my very nose
Chamomile, Citrus, Honey
Of manifold names it is.
But its truth is singularly clear
Drink a cup every day
To keep foul, old Cold
Distantly, safely away!
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Songs of the Reed
PoetryA repository of various poems that I have written over the years gathered into this publication. Influences range from Whitman, Ginsberg to Shakespeare and Milton and confluence into what is hopefully a larger collection. It'll be updated daily with...
