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.