From a clear blue sky
The mist came down,

Unheralded by the sirens
That play loud in our ear.
We turn to peer at our companions, confounded.
And now, uncertainly,
We take our first steps into this new reality,
Destination unknown
— 8th April 2020
From a clear blue sky
The mist came down,

Unheralded by the sirens
That play loud in our ear.
We turn to peer at our companions, confounded.
And now, uncertainly,
We take our first steps into this new reality,
Destination unknown
— 8th April 2020
Your poem catches the mood very well, Stephen, of the fog in which most of us find ourselves – the fog of uncertainty created by the virus itself, and the fog of confusion created by our leaders, now, for once, dependent on ‘experts’.
Angus M
Thanks for that Angus. I hesitate to think of myself as a poet, but sometimes this kind of sketch offers a satisfying summary of what I am thinking about something.