Corona Contemplations IV

Corona Easter

 

There’s no “rush hour anymore,

Unless it’s the gallop to get to the store,

When the trucks arrive with their heavy tread

Full of toilet paper and loaves of bread.

It’s a strange emergency we have here,

There’s plenty to eat in the midst of fear…

It may not be what you truly crave,

But, stop for gas….and you’re sure to save!

There’s plenty to do while you’re stuck at home,

Though some, it’s true, are stuck alone.

But, we’ve books to read and TV shows,

Tons of technology, well we know!

There’s cleaning to do and “stuff” to sort,

A walk to the front door is our “sport”…

Human contact? Not much choice:

A text or two or the human voice

May be the highlight of our lives,

‘Til it’s time to eat or the mail arrives.

Meal planning is a constant winner:

Lunch was good…..now, what’s for dinner?

When this pandemic is no more,

We’ll chubbier be than we were before!

In the midst of the TV news palaver,

None of us looks like a starved cadaver.

But deep in boredom’s anguished sighing,

Many are sick….and some are dying.

But, churches are empty, dark and closed,

Where can the spirt-hungry go?

“How can we worship?” some may ask:

In simple kindness and humble tasks.

Sympathy spoken to those who mourn,

Encouragement to the sad forlorn.

So simple to just pickup a phone

To light up the lives of the sick, the lone.

While trips to the market for elder friends

Can mean the world ‘til this chaos ends…

Necessities, when you can’t go to the store,

Are a treasure to find outside your door.

We try…although our masks are slipping,

On sanity to keep on gripping.

Now it’s Easter, we’ve time and room

To dwell on the fact of an empty tomb.

However the stone was rolled away,

Death itself was cowed that day

By the mystical figure who lay within,

Who rose to pay for a world of sin.

He only asked us, “Feed my sheep,”

Our brothers’ and sisters’ lives to keep,

And with our frail, imperfect hearts,

To be Christ to them…..to do our part:

To do as Jesus Himself has bidden,

To prove, again, that He is risen…

His ministry in our hands must thrive,

For He is risen…

He is alive!

Middle Grandson's Natal Day Poem...

Corona Contemplations III