Covid Poem by Angela Brown

I hear the sound of wind
Beating against my window pane
I hear ghosts gathering
In the misty dawn till sunrise
I hear the sound of empty streets
The memory have turned to ashes
Blank Images Of life here there
Of becoming
Of going, going, gone
nowhere
I hear the sound of wind blowing
Visibly vibrating and salutating
Invisible notes to the human eye
Ba, ba
Ba, ba
Ba, ba
Greeting sunrise
Days past
Unto months
Unto years
Until I see the flower
Blooming again