A seed, breaking through hard ground.
Human seeds, all around.
What this poor poet has so long tried to say, is expressed far more eloquently by the beautiful virus in our midst. Beautiful? Yes. For this is how a mother reminds her children when they heedlessly, carelessly forget — that we — are all — connected. For this, and for all things, she has my gratitude.
Seen by my wife yesterday, written in big chalk letters
on the street in front of the hospital: Thank You —
after which she was screened by officials, and went inside to begin her long day’s work.
March 22, 2020
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Beauty, Diaries, Earth, Gratitude, Journals, Love, Pandemics, Poems, Poetry
William Michaelian 