Feeling something I might know.
It’s from far away and long ago.
Don’t want to stay and don’t want to go.
It’s proud and frail, like in limbo.
I’m by myself I’m welcome here.
The fog has lifted but not the fear.
I’m being vague, with little clear.
Proud and frail and just a little queer.
It’s 70 days of quarantine.
All alone and sight unseen.
Lost in trials of what might of been.
Frail and proud and maybe mean.