Not feeling so good: think I’m coming down
With a cold, judging by my runny nose
And rundown feel. Drove to the north of town
This morning, for my run; did not suppose
I was ill then, but tiredness disclosed
Itself back home, listless, and so dozy
I slumped and slept, missing the football shows
On TV; still, at least it was cosy
There on the sofa, loafing all easy
It’s getting late now on the final round
Of the Masters golf; Westwood has come close
But on the eighteenth, Mickelson’s breezy
With a two shot lead in his bag. I’m down
In court for jury service tomorrow!
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