Trees older than time, whisper, a broken twig,
A tiny bird, followed by butterflies, wishing for spring.
The earth’s smell we breathe in, tangled legs in devil’s fig,
Blossoming petals, luminous leaves. A lost sea king.
Confined between the four walls we call home,
So, we are told. As we press pause on life,
For a glimpse of hope we pray, for the world, for Rome.
I wonder, will this give us flowers and harmony, or simply more strife?
Yet it puts me at ease,
The knowledge that nature does not discriminate, or care,
Time pursues. Thus, the days we must seize,
April, blue skies, wet grass, warmth of the sun in the air.
The prisoners of the epidemic need to breathe,
Open a window, watch the world thrive,
Without human life. Birds singing down beneath,
With humanity and spring, the human race shall survive.