I am Christopher Robin

Or at least I've felt remarkably like him for the past few days.

Sneezles

Christopher Robin
Had wheezles
And sneezles,
They bundled him
Into
His bed.
They gave him what goes
With a cold in the nose,
And some more for a cold
In the head.
They wondered
If wheezles
Could turn
Into measles,
If sneezles
Would turn
Into mumps;
They examined his chest
For a rash,
And the rest
Of his body for swellings and lumps.

A.A. Milne

It continues, but it's a rather long poem, so I'll just say if you want to read the whole thing, find a copy of Now We are Six, which also contains such gems as "Solitude," "King John's Christmas,' and "The Knight Whose Armour Didn't Squeak."

And that's Friday Poetry