Twenty-Twenty
An End of Year Poem

Twenty-Twenty

Gone were our daily ways this past year

As stories glared loud and true

We could have saved many deadly tears

If they only told us what they knew

We watched as lives were leaving us

Each day the numbers crushed

We tried not making much a fuss

As we wished please not name us

They promised relief was soon at hand

In ways not known before

It may take months to save our clans

As they rushed a Covid-19 cure

Our leaders throw us bones to pick

Their schtick we have known before

In hope that they have found the trick

So we soon can go outdoors

Until this horror ends and we

Can once again hold hands

I pray to he to please hear me

And save our promised land.

— WOLRAD

(A Poem from the Wolrad Collection #64)
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['New Year 2020', 'Poem', 'Poetry', 'End Of Year', 'New Year']