Total, Active, Dead, and Recovered,
So much said, and in not many a word:
Numbers, colours, arrows, charts,
More for the mind than for the hearts.
The hosts are tracked by an app,
Their streets marked on the city map:
That's as much as we need know,
Whom not to meet, and where not to go.
The walker, hitchhiker, stowaway,
Huddled in camps along the highway,
Forced to live on pity and charity,
Were they right to be cynical of parity?
Surely, it's not that we don't care,
We do share, donate all we can spare;
Yet, only so much can we do, say,
Each, it seems, must survive as they may.
It's only the many we hope to save,
A thought that we must take to our grave;
But, no time soon, we do so pray,
As we watch for an ebb in the curve today.
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