Not in a month of Sundays would I have thought of life like this,
Where Nature’s beauty wakes you each dawn in glorious sunshine.
Where kaleidoscopes and cacophonies combine in time, sublime.
This year, 2020, Nature has stood up loud and proud
Protesting, demanding we take notice of what Life it offers,
What we were missing or ignoring as we filled our coffers.
For a month of Sundays we have bathed in its colours and sounds,
For a month of Sundays we have had time to see our surrounds.
Knocked off the hamster’s wheel, off the vicious circle – our Achilles heel.
We breathe easier, our air is clean.
Not in a month of Sundays would I have thought of Life like this
Where mankind awakes each dawn to deathly sighs,
Where media talk non- stop of a numbers game, in morbid refrain.
This year, 2020, Death has stood up Loud and Proud
Professing, demanding we take notice of what it offers
To the Weak and the Strong and all kinds of coughers.
For a month of Sundays we have wallowed in its venom and bite.
For a month of Sundays we have lost our burial rites.
Curtailed and cancelled, cocooned and corralled,
We breathe through masks, our air is mean.
Not in a month of Sundays would I have thought of life like this.
Where an unseen enemy presents to our world in glorious spring sunshine.
Where Nature roars “Live life to the full” during this Covid 19 global cull.
This year, 2020, have other wars stopped or world hunger ceased?
Have we saved the planet, have we lost this war?
And what the fuck were we always fighting for?