I’m sure my literary friends will enjoy this poem which has just been sent to me.
I won’t arise and go now, and go to Innisfree
> I’ll sanitise the doorknob and make a cup of tea.
> I won’t go down to the sea again, I won’t go out at all,
> I’ll wander lonely as a cloud from the kitchen to the hall.
> There’s a green-eyed yellow monster to the north of Kathmandu
> But I shan’t be seeing him just yet and nor, I think will you.
> While the dawn comes up like thunder on the road to Mandalay
> I’ll make my bit of supper and eat it off a tray.
> I shall not speed my bonnie boat across the sea to Skye
> Or take the rolling English road from Birmingham to Rye.
> About the woodland, just right now, I am not free to go
> To see the Keep Out posters or the cherry hung with snow
> And no, I won’t be travelling much, within the realms of gold.
> Or get me to Milford Haven. All that’s been put on hold.
> Give me your hands, I shan’t request, albeit we are friends
> Nor come within a mile of you, until this shit show ends.