Covid
Outside of my windows live trees
They continue as
Seasons march on with vibrancy of autumn
Bare branches scratch at a wintry gray sky
Then comes citrine buds and pop they open
Inside leaves stretch and open wide
I think of my bedroom as a child-wished treehouse
Yet along comes a virus, virulent and dread
It can’t stop the trees outside my window
It can’t stop the seasons from changing
Still its morbid threat stops me
Stops me from walking freely out into the seasons
The seasons go on and my trees go on
But immune suppressed I do not
My room provides me with safety
Will keep me safe until people start to see
Covid needs to stop
Its grasping arms outstretched
Needs to not limit me anymore
