These Times by Elizabeth Moore
These times when time has stopped
When we don’t look at the clock.
These times when birds sing louder
And the sun beats on my shoulder
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
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 when the birds sound louder