COVID SUMMER

Darcey roses have hidden in some phloxes
As if a lord has come to Moulin Rouge.
Sickening odours from the neighbour’s compost boxes
That are rotting just behind my lilac bush.
It’s a COVID-poisoned hot and dreary summer,
Empty gardens sleep in Amsterdam,
While our poor planet has itself all dug in.
There’s nowhere to escape this covid scam.
So, I’m sitting in the shabby country cottage,
Trying to enjoy the scent of flowers,
Looking at my neighbours cooking pottage
With the ashes of their travel cheques and passports.