This poem was written back in 2020 in the midst of the pandemic.
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Earth in the Time of Corona
My big children did mischief.
I sent them to their room,
And now they must think hard about what they have done.
My face is scarred,
I’m bleeding,
I’m sick,
I’m exhausted.
I can barely stand on my feet.
I need a break.
I must shake this grime off my shoulders.
March is here, and the trees are in bloom.
Isn’t it early for tree blooms?
Shouldn’t my beloved trees blossom in April?
Isn’t April the month of the flowers each year?
So why March this year?
Oh, but I know why.
My mischievous children are locked in the house,
And now the trees have more space to grow.
And my small children, timidly, get out of the woods
And wander on the empt