Corona poem 06.04 20.

On hearing after war, suicide will bloom.

Told a purpose, saves us from gloom.

I am left further depressed.

My child looks towards the only figure he has, and wonders his purpose at 8.

When he wakes of a morning he always feels great

Adapting easily to where he wants to be, he seeks the warmth from where I’m positioned.

He’s served upon his needs and wants proportionally maybe more.

My shadow is bloomed in energy now. My direction is your smile.

Iv longed to be his parent, alone I am Fulfilled with pride.

I answer, to be happy son and never get depressed.