Almost a million jobs are gone.
I think it’s time to mow the lawn.
And where is my stimulus check?
I stayed inside, so what the heck?
I haven’t seen my friends in weeks.
Wind whistles through my hollow cheeks.
The raindrops are a welcome patter.
Nothing else now seems to matter.
Watching trees blow, wet and slick,
can make one forget the sick.
Images of death and dying
ought to keep one up nights, crying.
Never thought I’d see a plague.
Always thought Camus was vague.
Hoarding cans of food to eat.
Body bags are in the street.
There’s a navy ship at dock,
nurses working ’round the clock.
Bless the workers. They’re essential.
Fortitude is providential.
In their manmade cave inside,
all know someone who has died.
Every day the list expands,
writers, actors, men in bands.
As the world around us dithers,
just today we lost Bill Withers.
Life’s become a tragedy.
Tonight I’ll sing “Lean On Me.”
