To wander lonely as a cloud? Or stand upon the hills?
In quarantine that's not allowed. I had to take my pills.
I stayed in bed with my head bowed not seeking distant thrills.
A bit ashamed, not feeling proud, for there have been some spills.
Are these rewards for shaking hands? Or kissing lips once more?
Yet who among us understands what illnesses are for?
We press ahead with all life's plans not knowing what's in store.
In quarantine, observing bans with no key to the door.
And so we wait and separate. Obeying come what may.
To grudgingly accept our fate. We linger night and day.
No reason yet to celebrate. No wonder that we pray.
Still hoping that it's not too late. Despite this long delay…
Denis Martindale July 2020.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem