Coronavirus
I hear
A weeping quarantined widow
I peer
Through my sealed window
I fear
The unattended corpse below
A tear
Slips out in limbo
The atmosphere
Hurling my emotions akimbo
This year
Death’s started to winnow!
My career?
The lockdown let it go
I’m now a cashier
With no cash flow
A spear
Deprived of a throw
It’s clear
The life you know
My dear
Can deteriorate into zero
Be Mr. Shakespeare
Or just a bimbo
Oh dear son,
Wonder where’s science?
Science sense
Has fled into a maze of inexistence
But pray and have confidence
In this social distance
It’s a mutual response
To this traumatic circumstance
Of course I miss you
More than you do kiddo
But still when I’m near
Give your cuddle to your pillow
If we don’t make it this year
At least we’ll be called heroes
By generation that will survive
This remorseless woe
Copyright © Clement Chipande | Year Posted 2020
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