"colds" poems
My love is vast.
My love is strong.
My love is driven by the thought
of you noticing me one day.
Although I am told that some love never blooms
like flowers struggling during the bitter colds.
I have nothing to offer you.
All I have are my bones.
They hold me up
on days I feel like a bird with broken wings,
but I will always love you with the lights on.
I will care for your wounds
until you're able to fly again.
Until you can reach the moon.
So play your guitar
and sing your songs.
I will admire you from afar
as you carry on.
Don't worry about me.
I'm not trying to come off as a creep
but I love your eyes,
and how they look like dark coffee.
I love the way you speak.
Each word a melody.
Every sentence a song.
I'm caught on your hook.
I could listen all day long.
I'm lost in your music
while you're lost in this madness.
So don't worry my dear,
the flowers will someday bloom.
I shall save these words for you.
I'll read them out to you,
but only once during the blue moon.
You're a sweetheart and a really brave bird.
So walk with me to the edge of the earth
and I will share you all my secrets,
and you will share me yours.
We'll tie them both to balloons
and let them go.
Lay with me down on this pearly dew-drop grass.
We'll watch the clouds travel to and fro,
just stay with me in this perfect spot.
You don't have to go.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
Go hang yourself, you old M.D.!
You shall not sneer at me.
Pick up your hat and stethoscope,
Go wash your mouth with laundry soap;
I contemplate a joy exquisite
I'm not paying you for your visit.
I did not call you to be told
My malady is a common cold.
By pounding brow and swollen lip;
By fever's hot and scaly grip;
By those two red redundant eyes
That weep like woeful April skies;
By racking snuffle, snort, and sniff;
By handkerchief after handkerchief;
This cold you wave away as naught
Is the damnedest cold man ever caught!
Give ear, you scientific fossil!
Here is the genuine Cold Colossal;
The Cold of which researchers dream,
The Perfect Cold, the Cold Supreme.
This honored system humbly holds
The Super-cold to end all colds;
The Cold Crusading for Democracy;
The Führer of the Streptococcracy.
Bacilli swarm within my portals
Such as were ne'er conceived by mortals,
But bred by scientists wise and hoary
In some Olympic laboratory;
Bacteria as large as mice,
With feet of fire and heads of ice
Who never interrupt for slumber
Their stamping elephantine rumba.
A common cold, gadzooks, forsooth!
Ah, yes. And Lincoln was jostled by Booth;
Don Juan was a budding gallant,
And Shakespeare's plays show signs of talent;
The Arctic winter is fairly coolish,
And your diagnosis is fairly foolish.
Oh what a derision history holds
For the man who belittled the Cold of Colds!
10.8k
The men, mostly wrapped in grey,
With knitted necks have nothing to say.
But sway out of the way of the others, passing.
Over there, on six, a man is checking
No one is asking, but he’s still looking.
His finger’s pointing.
Beside me, a beautiful lady, is waiting
Speaking softly to her lover:
“Not long now” – she whispers’, lower.
With late night morning upon our faces
We wonder why, we are here at all
Collecting colds, old age, and wages:
Before middle, old, and then the fall.
And then the sun appears:
It lights the seats where no one sits
I feel my heart beat miss a bit.
I see myself years ago.
Waiting for a train to go.
To take our family away, for free
For fish, chips, salt and sea.
All of us all, sitting there:
Our fathers 1950’s hair,
Our sixties mother thin lipped stare,
my sisters, bothers, and me, just sat there.
Frozen cold, with tears sticking in my eyes.
And for a moment I want back that time.
To start again, at another me:
No more trains - but more sea.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 4:23 AM UTC
The smallest microbes cause a fit,
in misery it dwells.
It starts with sniffs and then a sneeze
then sinus membranes swell.
My head begins to throb
and soon my eyes begin to water.
I feel the clammy chills but soon
I find I'm getting hotter.
I cannot rest my head because
I think that I might drown.
You'd think they'd have a cure by now
but colds are still around.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC
Finally it is done.
For months I have been
collecting ingredients
for the magical elixir -
home grown ginger and rosemary,
fresh organic garlic, onions and lemon,
finely chopped jalapeno pepper,
powdered turmeric,
Ceylon cinnamon,
tulsi, kelp and black pepper.
What eluded me was the
pungent, fresh horseradish,
unexpectedly absent in our stores
and farmers markets,
until a birthday trip to New York,
when we found the massive roots
in a Russian market.
And, once properly chopped
and shredded and zested,
all is covered and bathed
in organic apple cider vinegar,
a superfood in itself,
where it will draw out the
healing constituents
of each vital ingredient,
creating a powerhouse of wellness.
And now we wait.
Four to eight weeks
of shaking the jars every day
before we drain the lot,
run the pulp through a juice extractor
and add the final touch ...
local honey, raw and unfiltered,
adding sweetness and
its own preserving power,
along with a strong boost to health.
A long time to wait
for this Nectar of the Gods,
but so very worth it:
a shot of this each day
and colds and flu stand no chance -
bacteria and virus alike
overwhelmed -
say goodbye to illness.
Let us now give thanks
to our grandmothers
and all the lay herbalists
of generations long past,
for through their efforts,
our own knowledge
is greatly enriched.
We stand on the shoulders of giants.
5July2015
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
Not easy to walk through a
meadow full of flowers
when they look dead
and it's as if you can see the
bones of the dead
reaching for the sunshine
that the daises aren't sharing
as I collapse towards the graves
part of me wishing to be a flower
and the other wishing I was
colds stone with some skull and bones
with my smile washed away
but roots of nature growing in me
my tears becoming lost in
the ground
because the flowers need it
but I need to stop feeling like
a dull piece of grass
I need to be a flower
but I'm just going to be
another sad story
lost in the dirt
that the flowers need to thrive
and another lost soul
will kick me around
but we all end the same
and we'll all breathe the same
dirt one day
and it won't be easy to walk through
a meadow full of flowers
when they look dead
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
I went for an X-Ray the other day. My name was called
and after the expected delay, I heard a nurse say
Right knee? I said Yep! She said “Come this way…
Can you get your trouser leg up to your thigh"?
I said “No… these skinny jeans don’t go that high”.
“In that case” she said looking me up & down... with a frown
Pop in that cubicle… and put on this gown!
For a start…it took me ages to get these trousers off…
and force the rest of my stuff into the carrier bag supplied
and then, when I saw the gown, I very nearly died!
It would have fitted me just fine if I’d been 18 again
but the gaps and bulges in the thing were a farce...
and allowed everyone in the corridor to see my fat 71 year old ****
I said out loud when I sat down again in the queue
“You know…I had an inferiority complex before I met any of you.
But this has definitely taken me down a notch. And I apologise about the view”.
However, inside the X-Ray room with all the techie kit and Radiographer Rob,
I felt better… The pain in my knee had almost gone apart from a distant throb.
Then he said “You’re completely safe, just lie back calm, quite still…serene”.
Whilst he clicked the shutter from the other side of his lead lined screen. (So he was alright then!)
Well, I’m home again now, hobbling about… It’s bearable (not like childbirth ladies) but not great.
I’m sitting here with my leg up waiting for the letter that will let me know my fate.
Ah yes… men and pain! There is a well know fact about the differences between the sexes.
It’s proven that, with men, colds become flu…and ailments:- epidemics… (No really!)
So, here’s the letter… Now...will it be Ointment? Physio, to transform a permanent slouch?
Or a keyhole flush with a catheter? Or - Oh no!…
For me - it’s a titanium replacement knee!… Ouch!
Somebody pass me that gown!!!
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
The violet sky stood bashful against the dimming horizon. Stark trees sprang from the ground, flourishing in dots midst the blushing stars.
Street lights flicker on, reminding me of how mom didn't have to yell for me to come home, the lights whispered it to me, carried in the caressing breeze.
I'm reminded in the spring, of the day me and my friend ran into the pelting rain and jumped through puddles, soaking our bodies in high pitched laughter and impending colds.
I'm always reminded in the summer months, how everyone including myself, preferred water from the hose over water from the tap. Or how we'd run rampant through the field behind my house, screaming against the heat.
The broken sidewalk reminds me of the time when we all thought we were cool for trying to smoke cigarettes we stole from our parents.
I fell in love with patches of clovers more than that of a boy's selfish smile. I was more in love with the act of collecting lady bugs as pets rather than holding a hand pushed into mud.
I preferred shallow swimming pools over the small voice of a boy asking me if i had other friends like them. Or how the beam of the sun was better than the beam of a slender, pale face with blue eyes.
Blind and innocent children, we fell in love with things we could touch or splash in. We fell in love with the beautiful colors and characters in our favorite Saturday morning cartoons. When we weren't playing cops and robbers, we were lost in a world of SEGA and Super Nintendo 64. We were infatuated with a world that never altered, but our vision cleared of.
We were saturated in a time where our only big worry was making sure we got our recess time. And when the smog cleared we realized our biggest worry was making our parents proud.
And it seems that it should be the other way. We should be proud of the kid our parents raised.
But ultimately, the monsters under our beds became the demons in our heads.
And the kid your parents raised
slowly became the kid you wish your parents never had.
There won't be a day in my life where i wish i could fall in love with the sound of an ice cream truck, or the animals at the end of my bed again.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
The constant fear of stomach aches,
back pain,
sore muscles,
colds and flu,
headaches,
bad coughs,
weird sensations that you don't even understand.
The constant fear of wrongly multiplying cells,
of hair loss,
of transplant,
of cardiac arrest,
of nausea,
of ***** failure,
of words like lymph nodes,
stage three,
clogged arteries,
terminal,
irreparable damage,
cancer.
The constant deaths,
in a thousand different ways,
in a thousand different hospital beds,
that consume you every day,
make you sick in the head,
sick,
sick,
sick.
The constant Grim Reaper's hand of health anxiety,
forever on your shoulder.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
Hot/Cold, Part 2
Hot endings, cold starts.
Hot feelings, cold marks.
Hot temper with a cold reaction.
Hot double barrel with cold pump action.
Hot church with a cold congregation.
Hot merch with cold affiliations.
Hot meat, cold wine.
Hot dollar, cold dime.
Hot queens with their cold mink.
Hot kings with their cold links.
Hot art with cold reception.
Hot mirror and a cold reflection.
Hot woman with a cold reputation.
Hot main chick with a cold side on placement.
Hot funk and cold R&B.;
Hot world but the colds all I see.
Hot information, cold intelligence.
Hot faults, then cold recompense.
Hot forgiveness, cold mistakes.
Regardless of what the world intakes.
Hot ignorance and cold oblivion,
are bliss to those who favour dominion.
Hot pathogens and cold diseases.
Hot gold with the cold diamond pieces.
Hot gat within a cold Gucci belt.
Hot knife inside the skin it starts to melt.
Hot love for God and the cold religion.
Hot pain after a cold circumcision.
Hot skin, cold whip.
Hot hands, cold grip.
Hot city, cold ghetto.
Hot calls, but no memo.
Hot rapper with no demo.
Hot baller with no c-notes.
Hot thoughts, cold emotions.
Hot theories and cold notions.
Hot models with their cold body motions.
Hot love before the warm heart ceases.
Hot hatred 'fore the cold heart seizes.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
I need rent, but how am I supposed to get it paid
with a grand total of eight people in town?
I need space to celebrate my first taste of a private place,
but even as I dance for quarters - dollar bills at best -
I hear Mr. Delaney's footsteps, feel his molester's breath
dancing like a hot hand with its fingers to piano keys
from my shoulders to where my skull sits
on my neck!
His hands on my neck -
I hate this hole, this holler, Cacophony
I'm seeing dreams smash, firsthand,
seeing me swinging hammer
His hands on my neck -
I hate this hole, this holler, Cacophony,
but not like the life I left behind!
what I left behind, what I left behind
grows colds, grows overhead,
grows on me, grows close,
so close to the light that I lose the light
and grow cold, no friends,
no room for remorse, just
four walls, hole of black creeping mold,
a fine home to settle in, to
hate what I left behind,
love I left behind, whole worlds away.
I'm home in this cacophony.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
i am grateful for stretch denim on days
when
**** it
is a fashion statement
for lavender laundry detergent
because that smell reminds me of the home i've built in my head
for tea at
2 a.m.
when all the things i've done race in my head
because the next morning, i usually get my **** together
for colds
because they make eating an entire roll of cinnamon buns
completely justifiable
for the mountains that surround me
for NPR and good, rated M fanfiction
for def poetry when i can't find the right words
for finding a pack of cigarettes when it is only
11:30pm on a thursday night
and i am well past drunk in a slightly damp armchair
for harry potter and neil gaiman
for when twenty dollars fills up my gas tank
for my grandma's potato salad and biscuits with honey
for feminist zines that make me want to smash the patriarchy
for burts bees chapstick and jasmine-green tea
for friends who let me cry on their
bedroom floors
for books that keep me entertained
(even if that means me crying in my bathtub while reading them)
for courtney love and joan jett because those *******
have ridden in my car with me over many
heart-breaks
for well-water and sulfate free red wine
for johnny cash and new orleans and whiskey
for salt-- because that **** can wash away anything
for farmer's markets and co-ops
for bottles of water and for cookie dough
when my mouth
is the consistency of cotton and my mind is a little bit gone
for warm days in January and cold days in September
for breakfast and for hikes that begin at five a.m.
for summer nights drunk on wine and a little too much fire
for friends who call me 'momma bear' and for friends that call me 'baby bird'
for poems that give you cold chills
and flowers stolen from my neighbor's yard
for skin that smells like the sun and sage
for beeswax candles
and the smell of clean laundry
for days when i wake up and realize
i could have died on a bathroom floor
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
as you keep reaching for the stars,
always remember that you too are a star
and speaking of stars...
being a Gemini,
always be mindful of:
your hots and colds,
your highs and lows,
your lines and folds,
your dulls and glows
your starts and ends,
your whites and hues,
your straights and bends,
your credits and dues
your triumphs and woes,
your lies and truths,
your yeses and noes,
your reds and blues...
in all this tho' I pray of you
just never lose sight of
the "Gem In You"
Nov 11, 2023
Nov 11, 2023 at 3:16 PM UTC
In memoriam Asher and Franklin
Farmers flocked to Blossburg's mines
willing their abandoned plows
to perpetual dust and rain.
Burrowing into the Tioga hills
with Keagle picks and sledges,
they filled their trams with rough cut coal.
Black diamonds - carved for waiting boilers
of New England mills and trains
and Pennsylvania's winter stoves.
Brothers, Frank and Asher swung their picks
in tunnels deep beneath the hills
and brushed away the clouds of soot.
Their coughs at first seemed harmless
enough as from nagging colds or flus -
but deepened as their lungs turned black.
Pain and choking drove them to their beds
where no medic's art could aid them.
Then the coroner came to seal their eyes.
A stonecutter's chisel marks their brevity
on an marble graveyard obelisk
that pays no homage to their sacrifice.
September, 2007
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
Off lone island bay,
Outlander waves are praying,
Curly in their white caps.
Cars and lorries are creeping
Into a village still sleeping,
Coming in from nowhere.
Stones have things to voice,
There are stars of rock fish
Deep in bays with the moon.
Beyond night dream are lochs,
Darks and colds of longings,
Mountains old as confusion.
Birds chime their mouth musics,
Churlishly sent over moorlands,
All questions ring unanswered.
On broke beaches are notions
Of days strung to faraways
And sands bleached ancestral.
Off lone island bay,
Simple comings, waves, goings,
After sly moon, sun has its say.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
You shuffle in
from the kitchen
half stooped over
under the cover
of your nightgown.
Dry lips smeared with Vaseline set in a lazy frown.
Stinking of Vicks vapourub
and oxtail soup steaming from your favorite mug.
Eyelids heavy and more than a little dozy.
Hand reaching for a *** of tissue to blow your dribbling nosy.
With the mug in position you slump on the sofa
propped up with pillows, I've no choice but to move over.
Despite the max level of the central heating
I can see you are still shivering.
A fit of coughing erupts, raw and bone rattling.
There's a wheeze to each breath of your laboured breathing.
Moments pass and then comes the first snore
like an animal staking claim to its **** with a roar.
I carefully remove the mug and fallen tissue
Softly I kiss your forehead and whisper, “Get well soon. I love you.”
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
For God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love,
Or chide my palsy, or my gout,
My five grey hairs, or ruin’d fortune flout,
With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve,
Take you a course, get you a place,
Observe his Honour, or his Grace,
Or the King’s real, or his stamped face
Contemplate, what you will, approve,
So you will let me love.
Alas, alas, who’s injur’d by my love?
What merchant’s ships have my sighs drown’d?
Who says my tears have overflow’d his ground?
When did my colds a forward spring remove?
When did the heats which my veins fill
Add one more to the plaguy bill?
Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still
Litigious men, which quarrels move,
Though she and I do love.
Call us what you will, we are made such by love;
Call her one, me another fly,
We’are tapers too, and at our own cost die,
And we in us find the’eagle and the dove.
The phoenix riddle hath more wit
By us; we two being one, are it.
So, to one neutral thing both sexes fit,
We die and rise the same, and prove
Mysterious by this love.
We can die by it, if not live by love,
And if unfit for tombs and hearse
Our legend be, it will be fit for verse;
And if no piece of chronicle we prove,
We’ll build in sonnets pretty rooms;
As well a well-wrought urn becomes
The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs,
And by these hymns all shall approve
Us canoniz’d for love;
And thus invoke us: “You, whom reverend love
Made one another’s hermitage;
You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage;
Who did the whole world’s soul contract, and drove
Into the glasses of your eyes
(So made such mirrors, and such spies,
That they did all to you epitomize)
Countries, towns, courts: beg from above
A pattern of your love!”
1.6k
Dear Life
Why you gonna be so rude?
I cannot feel happiness
Cause everytime I get too happy
Anything bad happens
It makes my heart hurts
It makes my eyes cries
It makes my soul weaks
It makes my feet shakes
It makes my brain stops
Why you gonna be so rude?
You make me afraid to loving someone
Cause everytime I love someone
Anything bad happens
It makes situation worse
It makes my world empty
It makes my space lonely
It makes my room tiny
It makes my imagination flies
Why you gonna be so rude?
You are like Dementors
You kiss my happiness
Only left bad memories
You make my life colds
You make my life dies
You made my smile gone
You made my future grey
(Palembang, 12 Januari 2015)
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 4:29 AM UTC
get away from me all you fools
store owners
underpaid store clerks
delivery people
disgruntled factory workers
bosses
know it alls
child molesting priests
rabbis
loud mouthed reverends
strippers
track armed hookers
pimps
johns who's wife won't give it up
teachers
shady lawyers
pill poppin' doctors
nurses
kids with colds
old people with dementia
***** dogs
feral cats
evil grandmas
perverted grandpas
street sweepers
***** garbage men
slick bartenders
waitresses
drunk people
people high on life
dope heads
meat heads
sober judges
all of you
go to hell in a handbasket
and let me live my life
in peace.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
After the storm, when the clouds are spiteful and vengeance has been taken
Breaking character at play practice for a moment of pure ecstasy and humor
Catching colds, leaving an imprint of sickness and annoyance on one's face
Dodging the curious stares of ex lovers with a feeling of relief
Envious emotions towards the summer when you're left with chills and bare trees
Frozen faces in shock of the aftermath of that day back in September
Gracious arms stretched open wide by a Savior who has nothing to hide
Helplessness left on the man alone in the street with nothing to eat
Ignorance comes with the guy who thinks he knows it all (but really knows little at all)
Jokes are thrown left and right coming straight for the girl in the corner who's feeling depression
Kindness shared between two strangers hopeful that soon they'll be more than that
Lovers share a softened gaze and a touch of hands producing electricity
Moms crying for their kids first day of school, tears of joy
Nasty boys with shallow minds give over everything they have thinking they have real "love" for the night
Open-minded people uniting in the world to feel a sense of community
Pretentious celebrities showing a carefree attitude for the camera, but heartbreak behind
Quaint and quiet simple minded people read their simple books and live in a state of simple happiness
Red cheeks flushed brighter than a firework in July
Static on the radio playing really low, a tune really slow, with a sad tone
Tucked in crop tops, high waisted jeans, & converse lending a helping hand with nostalgia for the 80s
Under said phrases and over said words shouted on the rooftop with remorse and bitterness
Vertigo left her in a state of constant anxiousness
Watery eyes dried by pruned fingers in the salt water pool mixed with salt water tears
X marking the spot where she caught him with her
Yellow, stained pages and the peaceful smell of antique books
Zealousness for life shone in her eyes, almost like a musician when their fingers brush calmly and excitedly over their instrument
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
Wandering the streets alone
braced against the colds
a dusty worn out overcoat
mismatched shoes with matching holes
Sunken eyes and sagging cheeks
skin all weathered, failing sight
He meanders through the cobbled streets
seeking warmth to last the night
His story all too common
one more forgotten son
who fell right through the cracks
once his duty had been done
The nightmares that he couldn’t shake
that wouldn’t let him sleep
mix with memories of the friends he lost
call forth tears he cannot weep
The proud young man once strong and brave
is now a shadow in his past
just while awake his demons hide
but his peace will never last
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 10:04 AM UTC
The totality of a stare, their for changing life's bitter holds
My theory that we all are seekers is an ex-stressor of unwitting changes
voiceless changing clanging colds
Now a life this life has execrated all of your dreams
You and I cure the ice to satisfy the demons the night but it grows warmer I warn thee
Devious power and burning nights.. who is of the dead?
Devious powers all is quite right.. I am inside your head
Uncalled for searing this justice holy tower you're turret nare an arrow sent
And when the future holds against our bonds untold a world with forms reached out only to allow an ever changing destiny..
Then I shall cry out a theory for them a theory untold
Devious fires powers of the night Don't question the order do as your told
Fleece of the stripeless tiger nears telling all of us of the powers of doom
and your life is speaking slashing shshsh turn to dust soon you'll be through
If again you make this plea don't try to be the same as the one who turned to me
For within you are gone and in your mind we are all keepers but this is not wrong
I am turned putrid and this procures the storm
unworthy yet with this answer land will fall soon and shed this life for demons and right hurt eyes skin lips and all
Devious powers burning in the nights of the undead
You called out the scarring the twist of the unsent
Then I shall cry out a theory for them a theory untold
Devious fires powers of the night Don't question the order do as your told
Played by the fame then went a force of Satans wings ornate of diamonds and led
When the theory of theories is finally told the solving and the puzzle is an ultimate theory untold
Drafting and waning your demeanor a field of wrought with a killing and blight
Into a dark horizon one hand awakens as certainty puts up a fight
Then I shall cry out doubting you'd ever listen to me
Then I'd cry for us as the devout for the theories untold is ever our destiny
Then I shall cry out for a theory for them a theory untold
Devious fires powers of the night Don't question the order do as your told
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 12:03 AM UTC
Winter has coaxed
its radiator enduced
ether
and the time has come
for colds, snot
and sinuses.
Blackness
gathers us
to our tangerine
oasis - and
living room
televisions.
I left,
to walk through the
winter city.
I saw
empty car parks and
Christmas lights,
and thought London
was dying.
A fox grappled
with a tesco's
plastic bag.
I walked through
a winter forest.
I saw creepers
on gravestones
and
Victorian gore
settled into the earth.
I put my ear to the ground
to hear the worms
eating dead bodies
and all the while
the stars turned
overhead
like a millers wheel.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 5:44 AM UTC
She was the only Non-Native
On staff in a parochial school,
Reservation in Montana...
The school nurse,
Working in her office,
Fighter of colds and flu,
Coverer of scrapes and bruises,
Pre-medicine expert...
A little girl stopped in to say,
"You gonna come to Mass today?"
"No, I'm a Protestant,"
Just then another student walked in:
"You going to Mass?"
"No! She's a **********
Said girl one.
And so it goes....
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC