Not Nearly November

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Some thought Coronavirus was a flu
like those we knew, and bound to hibernate
when our humidity and warming grew,
but summer’s here and illness won’t abate.

The optimists assert it’s like a cold,
and though our URI’s are not controlled,
they think directed research might prevail
to battle colds and COVID. Yet they fail.

In my opinion, both those views are wrong
(and lacking facts, opinion’s what I own;
it feels like all we have’s a big unknown).
I’ll cleave to science, reason, and a strong
aversion to pronouncements from a throne
(I wish it were November now, I groan).

(Pushkin Sonnet)

This entry was posted in Civics, Coronaverse, Health, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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