Train running up my nostrils,
Dry lips stiffened.
Sun on my head,
Winter blowing on my chest.
When, oh when, will I be over
this long trip of heat over body,
Short of asking the doctor who only scribes
Something between an apple and aspirin.
I say, too red, too little.
P.S.: You said it: I am having a mild flu. Though, nothing like some humour to brighten my evening.