No 211       October 14


To write these poems each day,

To me it means so much,

When I see you all checking in,

Itís keeping us in touch.


None of us would ever think,

That this would take so long,

We all try to keep to the rules,

And wouldnít dream of doing wrong.


But sometimes it just happens,

You walk into a shop,

Oh! Iíve not got my mask on,

Then look round for a ďcopĒ,


You are all aloud a ďbubbleĒ,

But that is very small,

But when youíre in Celiaís Bubble,

You can talk to one and all.


How ever will people remember,

How we used to dance,

I will be quite honest,

I havenít got a chance.


My back wonít let me anyway,

Itís hard for me to walk,

But Iíll do what Iím good at,

Just sit down and talk.


I still do all my baking,

I do it, bit by bit,

Iíve worked out thereís certain things I do,

I can do them whilst I sit.


I donít want to give up anything,

This age thing is a pain,

I canít sit and do nothing,

I just would go insane


So Iíll muddle on as best I can,

The poems give me a rest,

Iíve got lots of hobbies,

That give me an interest.