Creeping crud moved in

Feeling kind of low

Nose is filled with slime

And I'm moving slow

Blast! I'm tired of soup

Sitting up to sleep

Writing stuffed like nose

Thinking lost sea deep

Finally I give in

Doctor office trip

Meds pop in my mouth

Stop germs nasty grip

Looking forward now

Mind fog vacate brain

I will pick up pen

Words will flow like rain

Til then I will rest

While meds go to war

Wait for thoughts to gel

Rhymes and chimes will pour