Pandemic Poems - APRIL 2020
Bio Note: I am a retired physician sheltering in place in Neenah, WI, with my wife and
two sons. My recent poetry has appeared in Right Hand Pointing and The Raven Review. My first
chapbook, "A Glint of Light," will be published later this year by Finishing Line Press. While
in quarantine I am reading, writing, becoming a fitness fanatic, and improving my acoustic guitar technique.
Viral Spring
Gloves, a surgical mask,
the winter-worn yard.
Over the empty streets,
an anxious silence.
Anguish and suffering
on the pandemic breeze.
I look up, rake in hand
and see a new spring nest
in the uppermost branches
of a small white birch.
I don’t rake near there,
or near the other trees.
Suddenly, in every tree,
an unseen nest. When
the world seems about
to shatter, miraculously,
mercifully, it may not.
©2020 Fredric Hildebrand
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the
author (email address above) to tell her or him. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual.
It is very important. -JL