Dry Winter

I can’t control the weather or the sea.
I’m powerless to stop the viral spread.
My loved ones act like they’re ignoring me,
so self-esteem is found in my own head.
I’m old enough I don’t bemoan. Instead,
accepting drought and doom, I damp my wrath,
and try enjoying (while allowed) a bath.

(Rhyme Royal)

This entry was posted in Aging, Coronaverse, Home, Philosophy, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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