Ode to my Neti Pot

Named, I presume, for some fond grandmother, Neti,
when I can't breathe you let me.
Away foul sinusitis! Be gone blocked nasal passages!
Despite vicious cold, I suck air through my nose
regardless of my head's position relative to the north pole.

Come, cherished Neti, with your (kinda gross) rewards,
In with warm saline - out, out mucus hordes!
Alas, splendid pot, it seems you cannot
work your same magic on tortured vocal chords.

A recitation of this ode will not be possible at this time.