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Posted by MFish

In the morning hours,
sitting, with pen in hand,
words pouring forth
like mental sand.
Falling to paper,
inscribed with ink,
only I know what I think.
My mind is filled,
with words galore,
pouring out through an open door,
for my hand is starting to hurt,
as I sift through the sandy dirt.

The good old days are now gone.
The lives lost in this virus run,
Be they daughter, husband, wife or son.
A much too early return to work
Or the open a business, to crowds,
Was poor judgement, if it was used.
It now appears the citizens were confused,
As our leader, said it will be gone
In mid April, when it is warm.
Wrong again, with your guessing game,
As you violate any sense of reason.
Not wearing a mask. It is your claim
The petulant child you; are to blame.
May Karma grab you by your shirt
And plant your face into the dirt.

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