I cannot speak for thee, but here I lay Ensconced inside my home, not struck with fear, But purposed to entrench within this sphere Until this growing gloom has passed away — I dine on steak, with wine; I quaff my scotch, And pick at nibbles from a fancy plate; I click to find a comedy to watch, Averting eyes from news I’ve come to hate — Was it thus so when plague swept through the land? When Spanish flu ran rampant and unchained? Did children sneak to parties parents banned? Were beaches full of tourists unrestrained? I think, compared to them, we have it best, And time shall ease our sorrows with her zest.