Bad Cold by Shel Silverstein

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  This cold is too much for my shortsleeve. Go get me a Kleenex--and fast. I sniffle and wheeze And I'm ready to sneeze And I don't know how long I can last.... Atchoo--it's to wet for a kleenex, So bring me handkerchief, quick. It's--atchoo--no joke, Now the handkerchief's soaked. Hey, a dish towel just might do the trick. Atchoo--it's too much for bath towel. There never has been such a cold. I'll be better off With that big tablecloth, No--bring me the flag off the pole. Atchoo--bring the clothes from the closet, Atchaa--get the sheets from the bed, The drapes off the window, The rugs off the floor To soak up this cold in my head. Atchoo-- hurry down to the circus And ask if they'll lend you the tent. You say they said yes? Here it comes--Lord be blessed-- Here it is--Ah-kachoooo--there it went.

Easier to get in than out.

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The time was 1884.
The place: Montgomery, Michigan.

A spiritualist was stricken with a disease and his life was ebbing away. He had such a hatred for Christ that open his death, he requested that his body not be carried to a church for funeral services nor should any pastor be called upon to officiate.

As he lay in his bed dying, he turned his face to the wall and began to talk to himself about his future. His wife, sitting by his bedside, saw that he was greatly troubled and tied to comfort and console him by telling him not to be afraid. She told him that his spirit would return to her and they would still be with each other then as now. But he would not find comfort in her words. With a look of despair, he said, “I see a great high wall rising around me and am finding out at last—when it is too late—that it is easier to get into Hell than it will be to get out.”

A few minutes later he died to receive his reward of unrightousness.

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