Six weeks ago I caught a wicked cold.
Its tenure was severe but it was brief.
It sapped my stamina and made me old,
but three days past I welcomed some relief.
It lingered then with symptoms almost gone,
and left me to myself within a week.
Accustomed to a fortnight cold, I’m drawn
to think its variation was unique.

And then it struck my brother, with the same
fast-moving siege as mine. He swabbed the test
and saw it had no Covid in its name,
and he too rallied after three days’ rest.
We see each other daily – it must be
my bout left me with some immunity.