Infection

The near pandemic (or soon to be pandemic) of the Coronavirus prompted this poem:

Infection

Invisible, through the air it flies
And spreads to one after another
Suddenly the first individual dies
A father, mother, sister, brother

Across the earth, a strange blight
And in its wake, a dawning fear
A cloudless sky, a canopy of night
And it is coming, ever so near

Pandemic: Darwin’s game of chance
Who will be fittest? And who survives?
This is the time of death’s own dance
The Masque of the Covid Death arrives

I called many, from peasant to prince
Both here and now, and ages since