November 12, 2014
Near Rupert, PA
A Pennsylvania morning, with
A summer’s balmy breeze.
But in our car it seemed that all
That I could do was sneeze.
It happened once—and then again
(A symptom of disease?)—
Again and then again they came:
A sneeze, a sneeze, a sneeze!
I glanced at Joyce, whose eyes beseeched,
Whose manner uttered, “Please,”
While I replied the only way
I could: another sneeze.
I wondered if my drama skills
Would somehow bring me ease,
And so I waxed so thespian
With each ensuing sneeze.
But, no, my acting (never good)
Did nothing to appease
The god now reigning in my nose,
The god who's known as Sneeze.
Old Nature has her music—like
The surf and rippling leaves.
And so, inspired, I improvised
My Symphony of Sneeze,
Bassoons and trumpets, timpani—
I used in all degrees,
But Joyce, I saw, considered it
Just more obnoxious sneeze.
And on they went, a score or more,
In various degrees,
And Joyce and I were tiring fast
Of my displays of sneeze.
Then, suddenly, they ceased—relief!
No, not a single wheeze,
And Joyce and I discussed awhile
The noxiousness of sneeze.
“Our car could use a sail,” I said,
“And I'd provide the breeze.
Then we would have a sturdy craft—
And christen it The Sneeze!”