The world kept moving,
And cows continued mooing.

The sky changed colours,
But the moon remained discoloured.

It had been months,
And all I had heard were my own grunts.

I hadn't stopped complaining,
About my life's failings.

Like one where my romance wasn't returned,
The foolishness that I yearned.

But one night when I layed in bed,
With a quarantined head.

I realised all I needed was love.

To be my own dove.