A Cold

​I’m catching my death of cold
To the flu my health’s been sold
All things considered and told
I do feel rather old

O where hath my youth gone
For its vigor, I’m forlorn
Now I ache, break, and moan
Who hath this blight sown

Oh for the carefree days of past
Where my youth I had seen last
I’d pawn or sell all I hast
For as an elder I’m miscast

– Raziel ©2017

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