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.

Gone Fishin'?

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Were do you like to fish?

Where thousands of people are stepping all over each other, using the same bait in a lake known to have been heavily fished day after day for decades?

Perhaps you like to fish where the catch is already gorged with bait, swiming wearily away as you plop more bait-a-plenty near them?

Maybe you enjoy fishing for a place among fishermen, jockeying for the pole-position, stumbling over one another?

Or do you prefer to fish where the terrain may be difficult, where danger may lurk in the vicinity, where the lake is attainable only after sacrifice and hardship, but, oh, the hungry fish! Multitudes fight and starve for even one morsel of food, and many others have never so much as seen one time the bait you have to offer . . .

Is that you? Do you prefer the last fishing hole?

That is missions.

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