‘Tis strange, this predicament of isolation.
Never have such attempts been made
to lock down an entire nation;
for times have gone past the nascent state of aid.
“Unprecedented” is said on every frequency,
promptly followed by “don’t panic”;
only guess what people do: hoard greedily,
descending rapidly into a state of manic.
A far cry from times when this was “just a flu”;
now, the crematoriums are packed full.
There is no place left to queue;
simply pronouncing the death count is a mouthful.
In many places, no time for mourning
for it is a war in peacetime.
Eventually, hopefully, this will bring a new morning
when the disease will be past its prime.
But that day seems indeed a long way off;
a glimmer, a glint at the end of the tunnel.
These thoughts arrive as I stifle a cough;
it is time to rest my head upon the flannel
and spare a thought for those
whose times are more morose.
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