Author J. A. Pott Four teeth, I think, were left to you Until, my ancient dame, A fit of coughing shot out two, A second did the same. And now the third to come shall find There's nothing in the way, So, Aelia, calm your anxious mind And cough the livelong day. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments