I close the door

I came and saw but looked away,

so present were the ghosts today.

Though eloquent the words they spoke,

their fetid breath near made me choke.

Deep echoes from the years bygone

have not left off, drone on and on.

So vivid, delicate the lace,

beneath your almost living face.

Our shivaree has never muted,

love intact has scarce transmuted.

Lunched we on this lawn that day

before you left, to my dismay.

Why must contagion make its call

like clockwork sounding in the hall?

Unnerving tolling; oh, the knell

announces death, that grisly bell.

My love was torn, then laid to rest.

My cries in vain paled. Yet I jest

and mock the mockingbird that sings

though never pleasure to me brings.

The Spanish moss, so smoky there

seems choking, sucking without care.

But no, it’s grace-full, a bland scene,

devoid of diabolic scheme.

As heedless, wholly unintended,

virus fully had amended

plans we laid and since repealed;

bastard microbe now revealed.

Excuse me, to the side I list,

quite apathetic to all this.

It’s just, I’ve seen this play before.

Forgive me, ere I close the door

again.