There's a lady whose nose gets stopped up when she blows,
So she's prying the airway to septum.
Can't get far up her nose, 'cause nostrils nearly closed,
That is why she is now using brute force.
Blow, blow, and she's prying the airway to septum.

There's a sigh, but it's stalled by the nostrils' closure,
Though she constantly gives the two reamings.
It could flow like a brook; she could wear a nose ring,
But her septum is blocked and misshapen.
No Nez Percé*. . .encumbered.
No Nez Percé. . .encumbered.

There's a feeling she gets, when her uvula's wet—
The postnasal drip hinders her breathing.
In her fantasies, she can blow smoke rings and sneeze,
And her voice won't sound like Stander*, hocking.
No Nez Percé. . .encumbered.
No Nez Percé. . .really encumbered.

If she whispers, the rheum stuck in her nose ain't spewn.
'Cause her pipes are all lesioned and wheezin'.
Out they just can't be drawn: mucus strands that are long.
She can't get fingers up there to capture.

If there's a snuffle in her head holes, you know she won't blow.
To get clean, she needs a machine.
Yes, there are two paths, but they've been long plugged.
"You must change the rhino roads, doc!
And, when you snake, don't blunder!"

Her head is humming as the doc goes, with steel, up her nose.
The pipes are joined; he'll detach them.
This lady then can make the wind blow and get a free flow.
Her airway emits a blustery wind.

Some say the eyes; she says the nose
Forms the window into the soul.

There hocks a lady, and she blows.
Mucus flies; alights on doc's toes.

He has helped her to reach her goal:
To make it not so awfully hard
To exhale a tuba-like blast.
The awling's done; clarion call
Bursts from her nose like thunder's roll.

No more prying the airway to septum!