What manner of foul, night-creeping demon,
came to scrape and scratch my larynx?
Please! No more honey and acid lemon!
I am beaten, a done man, jinxed!

I am a man with a cold, nay flu!
Far worse than any soul has known,
It started small, but then it grew,
Filled every organ, every bone!

The ache of childbirth is naught!
Compared to what I suffer now,
My tortured frame is overwrought,
No woman can imagine how!

Oh! Help me darling! Be my nurse,
Make bearable my final hours!
See my tears! The pain grows worse!
Come spread my bed with mourning flowers!

See how the little boy returns,
With snotty nose and teary eyes,
How even giant men will yearn,
For mummy's hugs and gentle sighs.

When Hercules has runny nose,
a rasping throat and stuffy head,
He still seeks fair Alcmene's hand,
To tuck him in his godly bed.

Oli (04/01/07)