The Dreaded Lurgy

lurgy

The lurgy’s got me. I can feel it creeping down my throat.
Another sleep and I’ll be filling like the bilges in a boat
With yellow mucus. It’ll rattle in my lungs and in my head,
And by dinnertime tomorrow I’m going to wish that I was dead.
All the energy will drain from me and cotton-wool my mind,
Leaving only aching marrow and other nastiness behind.
I’m stocking up on Beechams; going to fight this tooth and blood.
But the lurgy’s won already, so it won’t do any good.

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