Hearing the busy tone of life,
beeping beeping, giving strife,
I tried to call, but no one answered.
my hair stuck down, with sweat plastered.

The nerves rise with pins and needles,
the world is full of good and evil,
the winds of change, with hurricane-force,
have me standing on the porch.

I hold on gripping the cast iron rail,
now listening to the virus hail,
it bounces off and ricochets,
like fired from a trebuchet.

I see a crack inside the storm,
hopefully, itself destroyed and torn,
a beam of light, horizons of dream
the sun's heat begins to steam.

Life on hold, nerves now bare
like a dragon not leaving the lair,
hoarding my treasures all alone,
hoping to hear the ringing phone.