|
![]() |
Corona surreal
Corona surreal or COVID-19, has closed My old workplace and emptied the streets, People like statues, 2 metres apart, stand Waiting in line, for permission to shop.
The birds haven’t noticed, too much work To do, feathering their nests and feeding Their brood. Quiet roads a blessing, no Cars racing by, fat worms aplenty, beetles, And flies.
The garden’s oblivious to the woes at our Door, it waits for a trowel, a spade, or a Hoe, with the sun on your back, and a Robin nearby, what better way is there, Of passing the time?
© Joseph G Dawson Vote for this poem
|
|
| |