The clock strikes eight,
Like soldiers we stand before our gate.
Hands beat together,
The NHS revives another life, fragile as a feather.
Families flutter past on bikes,
We’ve never felt so bird-like.
Our old life is now extinct,
But this could be what freedom really is, I think.

Melodies move through melting air. 
Laughter echoes here and there.
The scent of freshly cut grass disperses,  
Most of us safe, except our precious nurses.
Holidays are put on hold,
But as we open our books, imaginations unfold
Escaping to places a plane could
Never take us, discovering our buried childhood.

We are apart from friends, yet closer than we can measure,
Reminded of the value of those we treasure.
A twilight sky: it’s time to talk,
We dial a number, venturing on a walk.
Roads hum with resurrected nature,
A stillness in the likeness of a glacier.
Humanity is more alive than ever,
In solitude, we are together

By Georgia Beech

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