I pen this short salute to pus;
It’s more determined than most of us.
The casualty of viral war—
Once white blood cells, they fight no more.
Those cells stormed Inflammation Hill
With just one thought: Bacteria! KILL!
They fought with everything they had
And, though your wound hurt oh so bad,
They won! And just to make it clear,
They blew those dead germs outta here!
(I know that ‘pop’ made quite a mess
But would you prefer a deep abscess?)
You clean your wound without a thought
For the white blood cells whose lives were lost.
Their efforts demand your respect, young fellow;
Don’t you EVER say that pus is yellow!