A KIND OF BEAUTY

A widening gyre darkens leaf and blade,
Overawing parks and fields where children played
On swings and slides in disinfectant light —
All gone, and soon, like equatorial night. 
The shops are shuttered now; the brides delayed;
The jobless queue grows long; rents go unpaid.
Mum tells me on the phone that she’s all right –
Homebound, alone, and hunkered out of sight.

Above, the falcon spirals without ken
Of stringent isolation far below:
Of gathered mourners limited to ten
To pay respects. The wedding parties can 
Postpone receptions and put on a show,
But funerals are never held again.

– Rita Glennon (with apologies to W.B. Yeats)