Common Cold
Ogden Nash

          Go hang yourself, you old M.D.!
          You shall not sneer at me.
          Pick up your hat and stethoscope,
          Go wash your mouth with laundry soap;
          I contemplate a joy exquisite
          I'm not paying you for your visit.
          I did not call you to be told
          My malady is a common cold.

          By pounding brow and swollen lip;
          By fever's hot and scaly grip;
          By those two red redundant eyes
          That weep like woeful April skies;
          By racking snuffle, snort, and sniff;
          By handkerchief after handkerchief;
          This cold you wave away as naught
          Is the damnedest cold man ever caught!

          Give ear, you scientific fossil!
          Here is the genuine Cold Colossal;
          The Cold of which researchers dream,
          The Perfect Cold, the Cold Supreme.
          This honored system humbly holds
          The Super-cold to end all colds;
          The Cold Crusading for Democracy;
          The Führer of the Streptococcracy.

          Bacilli swarm within my portals
          Such as were ne'er conceived by mortals,
          But bred by scientists wise and hoary
          In some Olympic laboratory;
          Bacteria as large as mice,
          With feet of fire and heads of ice
          Who never interrupt for slumber
          Their stamping elephantine rumba.

          A common cold, gadzooks, forsooth!
          Ah, yes. And Lincoln was jostled by Booth;
          Don Juan was a budding gallant,
          And Shakespeare's plays show signs of talent;
          The Arctic winter is fairly coolish,
          And your diagnosis is fairly foolish.
          Oh what a derision history holds
          For the man who belittled the Cold of Colds!