Ode to a Cough

(dedicated to a select few at an institution of higher learning)

The sickie hacked, a tortured rasp,
And then his girlfriend's hand he clasped.

"Me careth not for my ill health,
We must go out and spend our wealth!"

"Besides, there still are one, or two
Who have not caught this wicked flu."

So thoughts of rest and sleep aside,
They socialized both far and wide.

Barely taking time to stop,
For eggs and toast at Waffle Shoppe.

Thus their haunts became nocturnal,
Promising more coughs eternal.

And the moral of this poem?
"Seek your rest, and no more roam."

(Any similarities to persons, real or imagined, is purely coincidental)

P.S. Don't make me come down there and get tough with you guys!

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