Tuesday, 10 June 2014

Ceremony of Healing from Hay Fever

Archdruid: Peace be with.... atchoo!

All: And right back.... atchoo!

Archdruid: Let us join in the Psniffly Psalm.

All: Oh how many are my sneezes
My hanky is soaked through
All day long my eyes are itching
And my nose is tickling.

Atchoo! *

My eyes are red from rubbing
And my nose is like unto the tomato that grows in the valley of Sharon.
I gaze out on the world through fuzzy lenses
And wear dark glasses all the time.


Oh give unto me the unction that is call-ed Vaseline!
That I might smear some on my nasal philtrum.
There may it rest all the day
Sticking onto any pollen grains that are headed for my schnozz.


Even though I sit in the dark of a curtained room
Yet pollen is always with me
Its spiky alien beauty entrances me under a microscope
But not so much when it's up my nose.

Archdruid: Care for an antihistamine?

All: Don't mind if I.... atchoo!

* A word of uncertain meaning, which may be an instruction to the musicians.

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