Ode to the Code

Whining aside, would it seem out of place

If my nose and my eyes should secede from my face?

I’m not really ailing; no chills and no fevers

But these turncoat vestiges won’t be believers

They won’t stop their dripping and stinging and running

And now they’re pursuing recruits with their cunning

Both Ears and good Throat, at the top of their list,

Have been stronger than Lungs in their will to resist

I’ve tried to assuage them; I’ve got Puffs with aloe

I don’t know what’s made them so surly and callow

My cheekbones assert, and I’m not one to doubt them,

That maybe we’d be better off here without them.

If I don’t do something, their mutinous lies

Will infect every corner, till somebody dies!

So, would it be nuts?  I’d look funny, I know

But maybe I ought to just let the three go.