Fleeting Illness

A cold wind sliced through the day, bitter and bare,

reminders of winter still heavy in the air.

A sneeze shook my bones, took me back to that time,

when the worst cold arrived, relentless and prime.

Crumpled tissues piled high, a fortress of care,

the faint scent of menthol, my body laid bare.

Wrapped in blankets, a prisoner of rest,

a fevered surrender, the longing for zest.

Each cough echoed loudly, a haunting refrain,

as I grappled with shadows that lingered like rain.

In the depths of this battle, I found a small peace,

for even in sickness, the chaos will cease.