O Splendid little neti pot:
When sinuses are overwrought
When nostrils are be-rimed with snot
Your wondrous fountains hit the spot.
With water neither cold nor hot
And head inclined til neck is taut
Like some strange peering ocelot
I take you like a god’s spigot.
Now some would claim your use is fraught
And risks cerebral fungal rot
But when I rise from my sick-cot
No other treatment have I sought.