(Trying my hand at poetry today:)
Oh, that my nose would clear,
For right outside is the nice Fall air.
Oh, that I would not sneeze and sneeze,
During the only time in Texas when there is a breeze.
Why doest my eyes seem to resemble so,
The infamous red on Rudolph’s nose?
From the scratching, and itching, and burning and pain
I am in want — in WANT! In want of breath again.
I shall sleep! I shall sleep! That should be the cure!
If only my children that schedule would endure.
For it’s during the sleep that my nose doesn’t know
How to twitch, how to throb, how to bother me so.
What do you think?
Yeah, I know.