The Winter of our Discontent 2020
The winter of our discontent,
Foreshadowed by the winds of fire,
Moves slowly with the lengthening light
Into a wild and wilful spring.
As rain beats down and soaks the earth
And fecund nature blossoms forth,
We too are champing at the bit
To venture out and spread our limbs.
Our chariots sit behind closed doors,
Forbidden now to travel far.
We only walk the silent streets
And dream of mountains, sea, and shore.
We hide our tiredness with the masks
That edicts state that we must wear
To block the plague and keep us safe.
But what do these small shrouds conceal?
The masks hide more than tired lives,
They hide our smiles, the looks of joy,
The way that we communicate
With all the world in which we live.
In isolation we have missed
The simple therapy of friends,
The gentle touch, the quiet hug
With those we love, with those we miss.
When winter comes around again
And we no longer have to hide,
Our discontent a memory dim,
We can reflect on what we missed
And learn to treasure every smile.
Ruth Quinn, Writing Group