On a day when I was visited by as bad a cold as I can recall, I did manage to write a poem:

LEARNING FROM A COLD 

He had what most would call a cold,

and so he spent the day at rest, 

relaxing and at peace. The best

thoughts came to him, the lovely old

ideas he tries to live by. Love

was one, the fact that love begins

each moment and like tender winds

around us holds us in a glove

as soft as springtime. Then kindness

was another thought that folded him

inside its truth, and sang a hymn

of peace. It put a quiet stress

on asking him to treat his cold

with patience and acceptance. It

said the cold was just a wee tidbit

of life that he could hold and fold

up in his arms and say, "Okay,

cold, show me what you have to teach."  

And so he quietly spent each

hour in a kind of peace, the way

you'd spend a day with someone who

could teach you in surprising ways.

Colds are not fun, but he still says

he loved that day. He never knew

a passing cold could teach him how

to live: give welcome, smile, and bow.