Cold is the mischievous imp that takes over your innards for a while. I meant imp the littlest devil but the word program here has changed it to important .But I do not consider it my VIP guest.

It takes charge , especially of your lugubrious head, where it hums like the midnight sea of Barua. It refuses to go away till it’s three days of mandated residency are over , at your big nose and in your throat where it lines up like a new music tune .No antibiotic gets at its throat.

Like the newest pop tune it is catchy for a while but does not stick long. Not that it is a fair weather friend .It is the old rage that triumphs in the long range.


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