The Croaking

Each year it seems I catch the “croak”

The only time my words aren’t spoke

Attempts to keep the germs away

(Wash hands quite often as they say)

Yet still it seems this crud finds me

My course is set most definitely

It starts out rough (just past a cold)

Then runs its course – now growing old

 I’m often left with tongue all tied

The many cures have all been tried

The last one left is time spent mute

Clock moving slow – this is no hoot

If one so stymied was not me

This lends itself to comedy

Of errors fraught when one can’t chat

What do you think YOU’D do with that?

Just nod and point and smile and pout

To get your point across no doubt

The things I can’t do weigh on me

And seem to multiply with glee

But I must turn all that aside

My “handicap” I’ll take in stride

And do the things no voice requires

’Til of those too my body tires

I pray you’ll never get this blight

That you’ll stay healthy, strong and right

I’d call with wishes now to stoke

But I CAN’T TALK – I only CROAK!