(wrote back in March, which now seems an age ago)

The reluctant tears of morning dew 

hang from foliage of vivid green.

A global pandemic is mentioned. 

Ears barely prick 

Minds drift like snow: 

Mmm what's for tea?

The dew becomes gas and floats 

Ribbons of wispy white melt into the blue high above.

Lockdown

Feet burn upon newly laid decking under an early summer sun.

Furlough brings time for odd jobs from dust-laden note paper, 

and the rekindling of doorstep walks long since forgotten 

A subtle breeze wafts the aroma of barbecued meats, and dissipates lager burps across gardens once seldom used.

Death toll 30000

The sky turns ashen, laden with tears 

They fall

Charcoal embers float in the deluge

Dregs, in fallen beer bottles, sway

Hugs     become a treasure

 

Above the clouds the constant stars sprinkle night with gold

The moon - old fat face himself - regards us with the wisdom of age, and waits, patiently, 

for the awakening.

End.