Strange Times
Whispering leaves, cherry blossoms
pigeons grumbling, winds howling in the dark.
On land, on water
like a cup of gold
sun rises to the occasion, yet
Winter's witchery
Keeps Spring daffodil at bay.
All power all motive
center on the unwelcome intruder
hitching a ride with every
wailing ambulance.
No fairy princess
bringing back the crown,
only a vagabond with
no compassion, no resolve
to reveal its mysterious origin.
It is its own, imperial, alone.
No use looking for accomplices,
waiting for the Godot of vaccine.
In disenchantment deep and dry
sharp fear and thinning patience
re-open an old debate
on virtues of long sleep, and the depth of recession.
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