Well, I woke up this morning feeling fine,
It was closer to 7 than it was to 9,
I propped up the pillows that help me recline,
To take the weight off my bending spine.
Another day, and I’m here confined,
In a home that’s running out of wine,
I’ll say a prayer and ask for a sign,
For delivery of – the fruit of the vine!
I’d drink my daughter’s – but it’s not mine,
I’ll think more about it when I dine,
Until then, I’ll try not to pine,
Or make a fuss, or whinge or whine!
What shall I do with all this time,
I think I’ll have to redefine,
Recalibrate and redesign,
The things I do on my timeline.
First I’ll look for the bright sunshine,
Then hang my washing on the line,
Think about a pantomime,
And paint a sailing barquentine,
My waistline now is undefined,
But I’ll tell myself that I’m sublime,
Although I’m feeling disinclined,
While contemplating my lunchtime.
I’m feeling trite but quite benign,
Perhaps I’ll rest and just resign –
Myself, to this isolation time,
Feeling cut off in my prime!
Lorraine Weightman
