As I battle a nasty cold, a poem that I had rendered during my middle school days came to mind, not that I had ever forgotten about it. I had to do some research on the internet to get to this particular poem…..had so many fond memories of recitals, competitions, winnings and best of all, my friends from yester-years still remember this….tickles me pink :D.
Thought I would share this here……a part of my early life…
The Common Cold, the Common Cold
The doctors really must be told
It’s really time that they controlled
The horrors of the Common Cold.
I love the doctors – they are dears;
But must they spend such years and years
Investigating such a lot
Of illnesses which no one’s got.
When everybody, young and old
Is frantic with the Common Cold
And I will eat my only hat
If they know anything of that
Mark with what long and patient care
The doctor studies what is rare
He cannot do too much for you
If you have something strange and new.
Nor can he quite conceal his bliss
If it should chance to end in ‘is’.
Moreover, if the thing’s obscure
He may be slow but he is sure
He knows the perfect pill or paint
For every tropical complaint
Which is not likely to occur
In Battersea or Westminster
But there are fortunately few
Who suffer from the strange and new.
I do not know a single case
Of Indian Itch or Persian Face.
Nor do I think that I have met
A man with sleeping sickness yet.
But all of us have one disease —
We all sniff, snuffle, cough and sneeze.
The Common Cold. The Common Cold!
If all the populace was polled
A large majority I’m told
Would register the Common Cold.
This is the universal plague
And here I find the doctor vague.
To poly-this and poly-that
He plays a straight and pretty bat
But when it is the Common Cold
The man is absolutely bowled.
And you would think that Harley Street
Would be ashamed of this defeat.
You’d think, I say, that here and now
The Street would vow a holy vow —
“Whatever any doctor’s at
We will desist from doing that
No more inquire the cause of twins
And stop inventing Vitamins.
And drawing teeth and drawing fees
Till we have done for this disease.
“We will not sleep, we will not eat
Nor shave the face nor wash the feet
Nor shall our boots be heeled and soled
Till we have killed the Common Cold.”
But if, in fact, you chance to meet
A specialist on Harley Street
And say to him “Look here. Behold!
I have – again — the Common Cold.”
The gentleman will only stare.
He really does not seem to care.
He then remarks, without remorse
“Oh, Well, the thing must take its course.”
But I reply with frank chagrin
“Why must the blasted thing BEGIN?”
By A.P Herbert