BLESS YOU !

 Bless you and  Bless you,
You poor little mess you.
I sendeth my sorrow,
Hope you're bettereth tomorrow.

I'll not makeeth an issue,
But you needeth a tissue.
They're specially designed,
To keepeth germs quite confined.

I hopeth you're better,
When you receiveth this letter.
I'll prayeth my prayers,
To the Boss man upstairs.

I'll prayeth your nose,
Not runneth  like a hose.
And red eyes won't do,
So I'll prayeth them blue.

But I must stayeth away,
'Til some other day.
That's whatteth I'll do,
So I don't catcheth the flu.

Chick Velasco