The Crone's Garden of Virus Verses #2

(A totally totally tongue-in-cheek take on My Shadow by R. L. Stevenson)

I have an aging husband who goes in and out with me.
He’s shrinking by the minute. Bald and bent and cannot see.
I’m no spring chicken either — crepe-y skin and saggy boobs.
Senior moments. Indigestion. And my joints could use a lube.

In our heyday, we were movers. We were shakers. We were B*I*G.
Now for all our well-earned wisdom no one seems to give a fig.  
We were once the top bananas. Fans threw roses at our feet.
Now we’re   
     Land lines.    
       Dial-up modems.     
         Sony Walkman.       
​           Obsolete.
              
(sigh . . .)

We didn’t have a notion that the world would soon capsize,
and guarantee our status and supremacy would rise!
We’re on the nightly news! The New York Times above the fold!
And why? Because Corona Virus dearly loves the old!
​
We welcome the attention! (Now our kids call every day!)
We’re popular again! We’re in the spotlight! Hip Hurray!
Yes, the market took a dive but stock in Golden Years is high!
Who wuddah thought we’d get our second wind before we die!

                                       *

Of course, the reality we live in is not one bit funny.
Plus, it's raining here today.
But Don and Harold brought me a glazed donut from LaMar's which raised my spirits mightily.