Plague Year

Some will pass away Some see the skull beneath The skin, Others will feel, Living or dying, A certain stillness In the air, A certain absence of movement, Except perhaps, When looking out of a window, Leaves swaying gently In the breeze Or a blaze of colour From early spring flowers, But always a certain silence, Crisp and solid like air; And sunshine Wrapping itself around Contours of buildings Revealing a geometry Never noticed before, All done quietly; A seen but not heard televised Ballet of medics on a ward In a bubble world of ventilator machines, Or silent images of trucks On empty streets carrying coffins to A crematorium. The advantage of a plague year: It never passes with a scream but in a whisper. Poet's Note: I’d like to take the opportunity to thank all those who are playing their part in the emergency ( whether in an active or passive sense ) but especially all those in the health sector many of whom are in the front line and therefore most at risk and also a big thanks to all those involved in providing essential services without which we would all be in a bigger mess than we are already. A big round of applause for all these folks please. Desi Gall