With Viruses And Vials Poem by Roy Ballard

Hallo and greetings, knight-at-arms,
all PPE accoutred!
Your presence conjures fresh alarms.
What variant is bruited?

What apprehension holds you here,
what deadly foes are ravening?
‘The sedge is withered from the lake
and no birds sing.'

‘I see pale crowds in multitudes,
with fever moist and blue of lip
they cry, ‘La Belle Dame sans merci
has us in grip.'

‘And that is why embattled here
on never-ending trials
I labour like a Hercules
with viruses and vials.'