The air hangs thick as treacle, <br />Yet no scent can I discern. <br />My lungs for breath do labor; <br />I feel the oxygen burn. <br /> <br />There is no fire or sulphur - <br />No clinging fetid mold. <br />I'm merely trying to portray <br />For you my lamentable cold! <br /> <br />2007 Idaho<br /><br />Anemone Flynn<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-snippet/
