the dying suffer, beyond help of medic
or concept of luck; gasping for breath,
each personal effect will soon become relic.
Their lives almost done, the final task
is to say "goodbye" beneath stifling mask
before the inevitable coma overcomes
the will to pray and for miracle ask.
A unit in Critical Care painted blue -
the shade they deem a healing hue -
appears to be failing to fulfill it's role.
In these upsidedown times, is anything true?
The image of a ward on the TV screen,
so very heart-rending and tragic a scene,
profoundly touches my heart until
at this hateful virus in angst I scream.
Antiseptic's aroma fills the air -
though none is here - I stumble to a chair
before I faint, overcome by the horror
of so much death and emotion laid bare.
Though these poor Souls are not my kin,
I feel all their anguish deep within
and mourn their passing, every one.
How I wish we could soon this battle win.
So I place all my faith in a prophecy made
by our Ancestors back in a darker Age:
that, when under threat, Arthur will return
to quash the invader with his trusted knights' aid.
Oh could it be truth? Or just wishful thought?
Well I happen to believe what in youth I was taught.
It's worth a try - with so many lives lost,
our victory's already been too dearly bought.