Dear Corona, I must say
You are killing me with boredom.
What is the point of being alive
When people cannot go or come?
What a jailer you might have made,
Had you been a fellow;
You have no muscle and yet you turn
The so muscled world yellow.
In setting us so apart
You have proved the point
That life is not property
But a commingling sentiment.
Having brought the lesson home,
Do take the kindly hint,
Be on your way and let us reap
The lesson we have learnt.
How I die for a vigorous chat
With ten or twelve chums.
I promise we will keep you in mind,
As we do alarming drums.
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1 Comment
best yet. thank you