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The unkindness of Covid

Your polo shirt is slightly askew.

Eyeliner you try and hide.

My daughter baby’s prime;

we have fought for this.


You now sit in classrooms,

open windows, warmth drained.

Queue, face mask clad, in corridors

dreaming of seeing faces 


The boy you pass notes to

you are no longer free to kiss

or find the ecstasy in another.

Your childhood is on hold.


We can bolster you with beliefs,

but they are ours and not yours.

A virus vicarious in its truth.

A fault you never created. 


◄ Sunday Morning Thought

Monday in Tier 4, New Year Jan 4 ►


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Ferris Ty Taylor

Sat 3rd Apr 2021 09:46

"Vicarious in its truth", does that refer to contagion? Very evocative. Your work really speaks to me, Emma I'm gonna fav your profile

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Emma Stradling

Tue 20th Oct 2020 14:38

Thanks Greg.

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Greg Freeman

Tue 20th Oct 2020 11:32

Difficult subject but excellent poem, Emma.

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