I sit here on our roof quite high
Some down there die
I’m in the group of the old
I could be one of those left in the cold.
Do I wish I were young
At the bottom rung
Never a care about the collapsing lung
This virus is not fair
It attacks grey hair
Or those with head so bare
I was born with a desire
Never a liar
To traverse life with water, wind and fire
But now I’m here
Wondering how to protect those near and dear
This is no fun
Staring down the virus’ gun
Never giving up till we have won.
And so I look west
When we, and the sun, can rest.