When I cough, I sputter, and when I sneeze, I spray.
My pet pastime is muttering. I’m trite in what I say—
these candid confessions representative of all
the ways that I’m imperfect—the reasons for my fall.
Once I was a prima-donna—unique in every way—
put up on a pedestal, protected from the fray.
But as I aged, old father time reduced me with his cleaver.
My mind grew vague and spotty. I fell victim to hay fever.
All the glories of the past vanished over time.
It made a simple mortal of what was once sublime.
So, fair warning to young lassies with your skin like peaches.
One day you, too, will fall into Father Time’s cruel reaches.
The prompt words today are pet, cough, representative and unique.