The wooden chair holds the chill

of winter.  Outside Spring is breaking

through, bits of green.  Quarantined as if ill,

I’m exhausted.  Am I faking?

Every day I act so busy

in winter.  Outside Spring is breaking.

Science fiction virus, I feel dizzy,

finding it hard to think clearly

and every day I act so busy.

In my house which I love dearly,

here I feel safe at home

but finding it hard to think clearly

when sometimes for hours I’m alone,

staying forever in one room.

Here I feel safe at home

waiting for the old to resume

as I stay forever in one room.

The wooden chair holds the chill

through, bits of green, quarantined to avoid being ill.