CORONAVIRUS

CORONAVIRUS

 By Peter Woodgate

A tiny thing I cannot see

yet it could be the death of me.

It enters through the mouth or nose

even the eyes and goodness knows

where else the little mite may go,

invading us and it will show

up, as a cough, headache or sneeze

and then gets carried by the breeze

Infecting Tom and Dick and Harry

who in turn will unknowingly carry

the off-spring of this amazing thing,

an enzyme surrounded by a ring

of fat, protecting it on its way

around the world leaving dismay.

It’s found a way, apparently,

of docking onto our cells you see,

like a rocket onto a station in space

where we thought mankind had won the race.

This object has no brain, they say,

it doesn’t live, not in the way

we know, so how can it do all this?

In ignorance, no doubt in bliss,

confounding brains around the world

and vaccines yet to be unfurled,

this lifeless, brainless, invisible cell,

rising from the depths of Hell,

achieves all this with consummate ease

whilst our leaders do not please

all those workers known “as key”

are failed, alas, no PPE.  

Copyright Peter Woodgate