I cannot blog for you tonight, said sadly, Sam, as she sat upright
To avoid the mucus inside her chest, that was springing forward like a pest
Again the sound from hacking host, dislodging phlegm from coast to coast
As far as spit and spew can fall, she’s come up first in fame of hall
Coughing trophy at thy feet, blue ribbon prize for winner to tweet
Perhaps YouTube the latest sounds, the whooping bird that left the grounds
I cannot blog for you at all, said sadly, Sam, curled into ball
Tummy hurts from all the pills, low-grade fever has trumped the chills
And everywhere I turn to see, I spy a mess staring back at me
Laundry piles and dust bunnies dance, and cobwebs laugh at circumstance
I’m forced to sit, and sit and be, to soak up liquids and drown in me
Who shall pull the plug and drain, the constant woes and annoying pain
Especially the voice inside the head, that cries and barks: Go back to BED!
~ Sam Craft, 2012