Guest poem submitted by Anustup Datta:
(Poem #625) The Sniffle
In spite of her sniffle Isabel's chiffle. Some girls with a sniffle Would be weepy and tiffle; They would look awful, Like a rained-on waffle, But Isabel's chiffle In spite of her sniffle. Her nose is more red With a cold in her head, But then, to be sure, Her eyes are bluer. Some girls with a snuffle, Their tempers are uffle. But when Isabel's snivelly She's snivelly civilly, And when she's snuffly She's perfectly luffly.
There's a nasty little bug going round Bangalore and pretty wisps of lace and cambric are everywhere ("A handkerchief, my dear, is a tissue that you don't throw away."). If all the pretty young things sniffling around the city were laid end-to-end, I (and Dorothy parker) wouldn't be a bit surprised. This is a dedication to all the colds-in-the-head this flu season, in Beantown and elsewhere. Alert Minstrels readers will remember another Ogden Nash gem on the common cold (Poem no. 325) - this is more whimsical, and even more delightfully, utterly Nash-esque (Nash-ian? Nash-istic?). Anustup.