The Mounting Toll…

 

Where walkest thou My Father
In this the dark of night
I go to watch the pain of man
As some give up their deathly fight.
This virus spread so far and wide
The rich, the poor, all suffer
And only keeping far apart
Can act as lifeline’s buffer.
For this they were so unprepared
Their futures now uncertain
And while some leaders babble on
So many face that final curtain.
Cynicism and conspiracy
All are cast about
Yet when the lonely coffins burn
The weasel words mean nowt.

©Joe Wilson – The mounting toll…2020