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Christopher Hobson 1966 (London)
Happy new year!
Auld Lang Syne sung full of cheer.
Soft kisses and warm hugs at heaving celebrations,
Crowded travel home through busy airports and stations,
Few people note what has began,
Some poor souls coughing in Wuhan.
First wave commences.
Covid attacking all the body’s defenses.
Crossing borders as serenely as clouds,
Driving high demand for masks and for shrouds,
Apocalypse warnings softly spoken,
Mortality records daily broken.
Now lockdowns appear.
Tourists still port the deadly souvenir.
Nightingale hospitals built in days,
But care homes hit hardest in this phase,
Brave doctors and nurses fight on,
No capes; Scrubs, masks and gloves they don.
Vaccines herald hope.
But people, weary, struggle to cope.
Winter and the new variants drive up the strain,
Isolation for many means more mental pain,
Christmas this year done only via zoom,
Does little to lift the increasing gloom.
Another new year.
Muted celebrations with hope and with fear.
New resolutions to end this crushing pandemic,
And relieve us all of our routines, so systemic,
Much endured throughout this long fight,
Surely now, the end is in sight?
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Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:
"2020 - The Year of the Virulent Crown" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 28 Sep. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/60242/2020---the-year-of-the-virulent-crown>.