I woke thinking of Yeats.
the line about the falcon
and flaconer.
Then the one on going
about in motley clothes
and polite meaningless words
while a terrible beauty is born.
My mind darts and races
unable to hold a thought.
Here and there
it scatters, splinters
like a mirror suddenly shattered.
In the time of Covid-19
those daring to call it
Chinese or Wuhan virus
are the worst, and the indeed
are overflowing with passionate intensity.
On Easter 1916 I was
negative 65 years old.
But in my life there
has been constant War,
and now with Pestilence abound
I cannot help but glance
towards the east
to see if some
rough beast
isn’t slouching
towards Bethlehem.
David Huzzard Writes 