When the Covid pestilence shall pass,
Like Nature’s instructive visitation,
I shall to the brim fill my glass,
And celebrate the humbling of many a nation
Whose pride of lucre and boast of arms,
Loads of gumption and lack of sense
Have through cunning low and cussedness
Brought god’s earth to this circumstance.
My liquor shall have a tang
Of wisdom brewed in travail.
I shall, inebriate, a spirit drink
That refurbishes a forgotten tale
Of joy in a lost connect
With root, leaf, and bumblebee,
Waters from crystal springs
Sourced in sentient ecstasy.
I shall laugh a laughter fearless
Of the humbled tyrants of territories
Brought low by a triumphant nothingness
More puissant than their worst cruelties.
I shall sing a song of liberation
From the swollen follies of diseased pretense;
I shall embrace the cactus and the termite heap
Who never succumb to time’s infected sense.
To a valley still pristine, still tender, still warm,
Still etched with strokes of creation,
I shall repair without a thought
In the naked embrace of an infant passion
Lost to the imbecile excesses of a world
Whose avarice seeks to kill the grass,
Not knowing that the grass will return
While their scythes have turned to dross.