In this small house of ours we pray
that we and those we love remain
safe from the beast that prowls without,
its fetid breath ripe with decay
Some think it dumb. The truth is plain,
it hungers for us without doubt.
Some swear the beast does not exist:
they say that it is harmless, tame,
half make-believe, not dangerous,
a toothless creature, they insist,
and we who fear it should feel shame
for our unnecessary fuss.
But hid behind our shuttered panes
we tell ourselves, beware, take care,
and wonder what might happen next.
The beast is monarch now, it reigns:
its pestilence roams here and there
one moment, then elsewhere the next.
Richard Fleming
Image : Thomas Woolworth Art Collections
