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Viranelle

 

Hard, not to grieve for what it cost

in dreams, in plans, the human gift of touch;

but don’t lose what you have to what you lost.

 

The leaves of Spring are black with frost;

the virus grips us in its fearful clutch.

Hard not to grieve for what it cost.

 

But hearts are strong, a bridge is crossed;

friends are near and kindness means so much.

Don’t lose what you have to what you lost.

 

Last year’s careful plans are tossed

away, our fond delusions seen as such:

hard, not to grieve for what it cost.

 

This is our Plague, our Holocaust,

the laughter fails and falters to a hush.

Hard, not to grieve for what it cost

but don’t lose what you have to what you lost.

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