Tulips

This is these tulips' first spring as I bought and planted them in garden tubs and pots last autumn, admiring the white streak that softly strokes the outer petals. Even more beautiful than the photo on the pack of bulbs suggested, they seem to be lasting well. So is my cough:

Day 41 and Counting ...

Day 14 of April. How the date
reflects the introspection of our fate!
The 14th we'd have called it, but of late
we occupy ourselves with counting days.

Perhaps before too long, we'll start to scratch
five bar gates of lines, small signs to match
the rise and set of suns, like those despatched
to dungeons in barbaric, bygone days.

But, ill with cough and cold before the cry
to stay at home, self-isolate or die,
already I had practised life awry,
and still I cough, now more than forty days.

I cough indoors, afraid the neighbours might
assume Coronavirus and take fright
on hearing me. But still, my burden's light;
each day more lose their kin who lose their fight,
while I'm still well enough to count the days.

© Celia Warren 2020