Summer Cold
There’s little less than I
quite dread,
That moment as I lay in
bed,
It frightens me from head
to toes,
That single dribble in my
nose.
The intellect which is
within,
Assesses it’s an allergen,
A bit of dust in bedroom
breeze,
Fear starts to rise at my
first sneeze.
I try to hold it in; I do,
And, then two more, “A-choo,
A-choo”,
It’s no one’s fault, and
still I pray,
It can’t be now I’ve
planned my day!
Peter Lowell Paulson
September 3, 2016
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