ON HAVING A COLD

Just wondering aloud, really!

ON HAVING A COLD.

You're onto your third box of tissues,
Your upper lips swollen and sore -
You've made all this fuss
Over tons of mucus
That you swear wasn't there before.

So, where does it stay in the summer?
Does this gunge slosh around in your brain?
And for an unknown reason,
In the cold season,
It uses your nose as a drain!

What happens if you get lucky
And don't go down with the flu?
It turns into hay fever!
This gunge is a leaver
It's refusing to turn into glue!

You are oh so glad when it's over
And you don't have to blow any more!
Your lip can deflate
And tissues can wait
As there's bound to be some in store!

But I can't work out where it comes from.
My poor head would have to swell
To twice what it oughta
To hold all that water
So it's ready when I am unwell!