Feeling blue, producing doggerel,
Now my temperature is high.
My nose stuffed up with clogging clay,
It hurts to view the sky.
My shoulders ache profoundly.
My mouth is filled with sand.
I need to drink another Lemsip
And hold a tissue in each hand.
I feel less like editing my novel,
And my notes beside me lie.
Deserting the blank screen and keyboard,
I take to the sofa and die.