A Bad Christmas Cold Poem

The spirit of the season
Is bubbling like a brew
But its gift, beyond all reason,
To my body, is the flu.

Used Kleenex lies like drifted snow,
The orange juice is flowing
And there is no cure that I know
To keep my nose from blowing.

A fuzzy scarlet blanket now
Serves as my Santa suit
And cool cloths on my fevered brow
Keep me from looking cute.

Instead of ringing silver bells
You hear my hacking cough
Despite the Christmas cookie  smells,
All I want is broth.

I should be wrapping all those things
Or festiving the tree
But shoulds can fly on angel’s wings
I’m sick as I can be.

The holidays are almost here
And they may pass me by.
I’m full of snot, not Christmas cheer
As one this couch I lie.

I’m sorry I’m not full of cheer
I’m sorry that I’m ill
Hope Santa and his reindeer
Will bring a get-well pill.