These Times by Elizabeth Moore

These times when time has stopped

When we don’t look at the clock.

These times.

These times when birds sing louder

And the sun beats on my shoulder

These times.

So quiet in the City, so few people, so much pity

The unimaginable now made real

When friends are sentenced, without appeal

To die alone with no last meal

These times.

Will we soon be better, kinder?

Will memories be the new reminder

Of days when we lived in our cells

Made sourdough bread and painted shells?

Or will we forget and forge fresh hells?

These times without rhyme and reason

Gibli films to change our season

Travel now just on a screen

Parties, restaurants last year’s dream

These times

These times when the birds sound louder

These times.