After the many gasps came the siren,
Then, he clutched at hope in the muted air;
The hospital seeming beyond horizon,
At his door, unbeckoned, did lurk despair.
Yes, several thousands have recovered,
So many more than those that were felled;
Yet, reason, amid angst, he discovered,
Finds fears and doubts not to be dispelled.
After all, there is no hint of a sure cure,
Not enough oxygen in the air or a cylinder;
Whisked away on thought trips so dour,
Again and again, he saw wood, ash, cinder.
For he could, he turned to the Divine,
Tried to chant, only to recall, redact, resay;
How'd his wife and sons cut the line?
Why had that cursed virus so lost its way?
Comments