16 December 2012
It's not Christmas without once being ill. Running out of tissues, Days off, pains that kill.
Deep into your throat, a serrated knife is pressed. Continuously, Those immune are blessed.
Unbearable heat washes over you. Uncomfortable, This one's new.
And a mucus volcano erupting rapidly, Charming, I know. Please don't laugh at me!
I am used to this now, but it's not amiable. Bam Humbug, and all that! Why aren't you unwell?
The Christmas Bug • Opuss № I