A poem by By Kristi Bothur
Twas late in ‘19 when the virus began, Bringing chaos and fear to all people, each land.
People were sick, hospitals full, Doctors overwhelmed, no one in school.
As winter gave way to the promise of spring, The virus raged on, touching peasant and king.
People hid in their homes from the enemy unseen, They YouTubed and Zoomed, social-distanced, and cleaned.
April approached and churches were closed, “There won’t be an Easter,” the world supposed.
“There won’t be church services, and egg hunts are out, No reason for new dresses when we can’t go about.”