Man Cold
At certain death's door I layTrembling in coughing palsy dire
My head a drum that devils play
My nose a tap my chest a mire
No nostrums will this mess effect
No tender hand or caring glance
I'm rendered lost to all benefit
Alone I suffer this piercing lance
Men must suffer so much more
While women chide to settle the score
Poetry by josephus
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Written on 2017-10-17 at 15:00
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