I have an incipient cold,
A budding burgeoning cough.
I don’t feel ill,
I’m sentient still,
You can tell me to clear off.
No, you don’t want to catch what I’ve got;
No way would it enhance your lot.
You’d never thank me,
Be catching a Gordian Knot.
For a cold is a cold is a cold,
Especially if you’re getting old.
You won’t want to feel low,
Just retain status quo,
And let’s keep the future on hold.