A Poem by Peter Rogerson

Herd Immunity against a pandemic. Really?



There’s Mrs Toms at number one,

Eyes shining brighter than the sun

Yet in her past a broken heart

A sibling’s death, soul torn apart,

But still she smiles…

And right next door at number three

Schoolmaster tall, with schoolma’am she,

He knows the value of respect

And tousled heads the nurse inspects

For crawling things….

At number five the sweet old dear

Eighty if she’s lived a year

And crippled by arthritic joints

And everything her age appoints

For growing old...

Number seven sees Jill and Jane, twins

With decorated wheelie bins

And Santa fading as his lot

Is standing on their chimney pot

All year round

Whilst number nine is empty now

Though Cedric coughed a final ciao

A wannabe of stage and screen

The first to welcome Covid nineteen

And the first to die.

And this is where the herd all dwelt

On Herd Street where the neighbours felt

A need to live and a need to die

For a priceless hope, a miserable lie

Called herd Immunity…

Now the minutes grow, and days and years,

No time for weeping, no dry-eyed tears,

Let tumbleweeds drift idly past,

Proving that nothing can ever really last,

Each home decaying like all things must,

And collapse into pools of wasted dust,

Along with the herd….

The victory, the final scene

For warrior Covid Nineteen….

© Peter Rogerson 22.06.20

© 2020 Peter Rogerson

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Added on June 22, 2020
Last Updated on June 22, 2020
Tags: people, lives, a street, a herd


Peter Rogerson
Peter Rogerson

Forest Town, Nottinghamshire, United Kingdom

I am 76 years old, but as a single dad with four children that I had sole responsibility for I found myself driving insanity away by writing. At first it was short stories (all lost now, unfortunately.. more..