She said, feels weird to poem in these times. it took me a while to reply till these words floated in my head poems are windows to the world
So i poem-ed for her poems are ducts of sunlight amidst the dampness of fear pressure valves that force oxygen through closed doors & clamped chests oxy-poems be like oxy-meters prescribe & provide at leisure They are pockets of air to gasp & grasp breath one poem at a time
Nurse by verse drip by rhyme when daily news makes you frown these words stitched together read during this plague within it becomes a care a cure, help you rise, sit up look out the window and say One day again...
They'd say poems do not count vaccines beds doctors do I remembered a tale about a doctor being sick best of medicines didn't stick she lay tired & ready to pull the blanket over her head till she found an old book the poems within she read
Do not go gently into the night oh captain my captain, the road less taken no man is an island Only when they pulled the blanket off her head they found the book on her chest and a smile on her lips as she rests.
So you see sweetheart today an ode is so needed So others ahead would know lines dipped in rhythm about there being a time when a poetess felt weird about being a poet . And that time passed For they would be proof of poems written like these Poems in a pandemic.