Two at a time; tuppence a dime.
There's a bug in the air; or somewhere.
Out there is quiet, no people around; hardly a sound.
But the trees still dance, they have no fear; I have no fear.
Life goes on in an odd kind of way. Is it my way, your way?
I can't say.
But hey; this too shall pass, normality will return in some kind of form.
It's a nonsense poem, I've nothing better to do.
How will I be in four weeks time? Maybe this poem will give you a clue.
Diana Isaac Retirement Village