Really Bad Poetry – Shall I compare thee to a summer’s cold?

1 Aug

“How are you feeling?” A caring friend asks.
“More like what am I feeling,” I reply.
My throat burns, so I down honey by cask,
My tonsils throb and more swelling is nigh.
What could be worse than that curs’d summer cold?
A lot of things, probably, but I know
I’d rather eat bread that’s coated in mold
Than endure more respiratory woe.
Shel Silverstein’s young Peggy Ann McKay
Would ask to leave work early, I am sure.
But sick days are for bums, as Mom would say,
So the germs in my sinuses mature.
There isn’t enough Chloraseptic spray
To get me through the rest of work today.



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