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Apr 2020
Voiceless whispers yearning to be normal
shops staring back at you in thoughtful mood
a desperate jogger who can't be informal
in case, into his private space you intrude

distrustful of every other single person
living in dread that you're going to break the law
fearing that conditions are going to worsen
like a wave of the sea that daren't land on the shore

gusts of bygone days calmly sweep on by
while happiness was left on a razor's edge
with a booming stock market and more pie in the sky
and promises that could not renew their pledge

in bars and cafรจs hang painted silhouttes
a deserted High Street that was once the fast lane
seeing your hopes dashed again as another sun sets
but how long before the bridge breaks under the strain?
I went for my morning run up Lincoln High Street and the appropriately named Steep Hill, at the height of the Coronavirus  pandemic. At 10.00am on Saturday morning there was just a couple walking their dog! The area was virtually empty.
Written by
Mark Motherland  58/M/Lincoln, England
(58/M/Lincoln, England)   
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