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