Address to a coronavirus

 

Wee invisible micro-beastie,

oh whit a panic ye gie tae the warld’s breastie.

Hiding in plain sight ye keek all around

and land where it’s busy

on them that cannae keep their feet on the ground.

Ye ken nae bounds

an’ ye’ve put Boris in a right tizzy.

 

But no just him, for it’s

the hale podium of panjandrums

wha think they ken hoo tae run things,

an’ ay mak profits oot o’ us a’.

Ye mak them look like a shower of bums.

 

Dae ye ken whit ye’ve done wee beastie,

ye’ve toppled the hale applecairt.

We cannae shake hauns or hiv a pairty,

an’ kissin’ is oot o’ the question,

so we try a little digi-tenderness

and pretend to be hearty.

But auld yins like me find it a bit testin’.

 

Ye’re a sleekit wee imp so ye are.

Ye’ve seen whit folks are gantin’ fir

an’ thocht weel if that’s whit they want

ah’ll gie it laldy so ah will

and tie them to it in a way to haunt.

 

Ah wonder whit ye’ve got in store.

Mibbees ye’re our payback.

As our Bard decreed –

‘I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion

has broken Nature’s social union’.

And let me tweek his comment

To a Louse – bigger than you, mind–

‘O wad some Power the giftie gie us

To see oursels as ither life sees us’.

 

But Covid there are more than you

who blindly forward go askew.

Twas said –

‘The best laid schemes of mice and men

Gang aft agley,

An’ lae’e us nought but grief and pain,

For promis’d joy!’

 

You’ve bequeathed us a present

minus helter and skelter,

and cruising the [a]isles,

so can you help us make a future

without tearing up the Earth,

and us caring with smiles?

Image via European Parliament COVID-19 © Creative Commons NIAID-RML