written by: Dawn DeBraal
Ah, sweet Corona how lively you dance,
One moment in China, the next you’re in France,
One step ahead; we don’t know the score.
You dance with the rich but also the poor.
Behind closed doors, men cower in fear,
Placate the masses. “There’s no story here.”
The rumor is whispered on everyone’s lips
Is this the end? The apocalypse?
Ah, sweet Corona, you take away breath
The numbers still grow, in counting death.
Life seems so empty it’s, such a shame.
Nothing, no nothing, will be the same.
NOV 2019 / NOV 2022 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
Dawn DeBraal lives in rural Wisconsin with her husband, Red, two rescue dogs, and a stray cat. She has published over 550 drabbles, short stories, and poems in online ezines and anthologies, including Spillwords, Black Hare Press, Black Ink Fiction, Blood Song Books, Zimbel House Publishing, Terror House Magazine, CafeLit UK, Potato Soup Journal, Impspired Magazine, Commuter Lit, The World of Myth, Valiant Scribe, Wicked Shadow Press, Unsettling Reads, and many more. She co-wrote a novel under the pen name of Garrison McKnight, nominated for 2019 Pushcart Award by Falling Star Magazine, Mystery Category winner, 2021 SOOP contest, and runner-up in 2022 Horror Short Story Contest.
Latest posts by Dawn DeBraal (see all)
- The Tree That Wouldn’t Die - December 21, 2022
- Interview Q&A II With Dawn DeBraal - December 11, 2022
- Curve Ball - November 3, 2022