The sun is shining, games not played,
only the dog walkers parade,
morale declining, children pining,
this is the plague decade.

Key workers nervously,
bravely give service,
while others wait
to discover their fate.

Watching wretched news,
numbers are rising,
much elegising,
loves no one would choose.

Down I go into the gray and brown.
I hit the sides, like being in a cradle that is
rocked too fast.  It's an abrupt catastrophe.
I didn't see this one coming; but I felt it, like
the slight rumble of an earthquake, or like the
false dawn, before the real light yawns, and
opens the sickly day.
It's just another ending, dapple and down.