Nothing makes us feel more old,
Than having responsibilities,
When you have a head full of cold.
No snuggles for you,
You’re an adult now.
Get off your behind,
Go help others to fly.
A cold is minor as Illnesses go,
Something we cope with,
And still get up and go.
But wouldn’t it be better,
If we could relax,
Take the time to heal,
Instead of sprinting towards collapse.
But instead we tell ourselves,
That we’ll be ok.
That we will live on to fight another day.
We just won’t enjoy it, not that it matters anyway.