A box of tissue and dustbin
How good a friend they have been
To help me with my chronic cold
A special place in my heart they hold
Cacophony, as nasal as it can be
Is taken in stride by my colleagues
Can’t help though, they got to bear
If not out of concern, then out of fear
(I am boss here)
My cold is old and me an old cold
A sticky story every morning retold
Wonder where all the phlegm
Comes from
Remains a mystery
May my cold, live long
Many are employed by the tissue INDUSTRY.
Nikunj Sharma
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-cold-2/
