cold sonnet

home work..... a sonnet

A COLD

I cannot write
this stuff called poetry

i am having to fight
not to run or flee

my head is all stuffed
and filled with snot

it is not chuffed
not it is not

I don't think I am listening
I know that I can't hear

I tell you that I am wishing
as best as I can my dear

to weep
to sleep