Oh Crud

Your scratchy sore throat
leads to intermittent coughs.
In a day or two I'll be out of this boat
I think as I proceed to quaff
tea enough for a moat...
my addiction is really taking off.

But the cough persists and
soon can be heard by those
all around on shore and land...
the pastor stops to look
as I, with heavy hand,
punctuate his sentences.

My work must wait,
the meetings pass by,
as I face this weight
in my bones and I
upon the couch lay
as helpless as a one-winged fly.

Oh Crud you follow me
with wheezes and faint
eyes of red, left to be
sustained by broth and bread.
But oh! I shall sleep,
deep, deep sleeping comfort
be my rest and restore
til you are no more.