Caught Between Seasons

We wander back and forth from room to room,
No longer human, more like vermin: stop
To nibble, sit to watch TV. The days pass
Almost painfully. There is nowhere for us
To go, no one to visit, nothing to discuss,
Apart from the disease, despite the welcome
Signs of spring. Rebirth! It's showing
In the garden, on the lawn and in the trees,
And it would cheer us normally, but, within
Our constructed world, streets are empty,
All stays frozen. Winter still is here.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 35 times
Written on 2020-04-21 at 17:22

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