Bad cold, like I told you just yesterday
Today I stayed off work, philanthropist
That I am, keeping germs safely away
From workmates, though still an empty office
Post-Christmas, not many to give the kiss
Of death to, or discomfort, more like, that
Creates teeming streams of snot that all rush
Down to a green sea of literary snot
This wouldn't mix well with the rain we've had
And we'd all drown in words going astray
Diluted, distributed and dismissed
From memory, though not all of it is bad
In fact, momentary thoughts make every day
Different and exciting, to be cherished
No comments:
Post a Comment