Ceres

I can sing no longer jolly praises,

nor accompany a harp with myself,

Until the cursed tide shall soon recess.

Unable to stand in front like an elf,

surrounded by green, singing jub'lantly;

Such pain and misery, much like a Guelph.

Yet here, I sit still, waiting patiently,

Soon to behold such grace, great and serene,

boasting such to the world religiously.

To be blinded by the luminous screen,

In the darkness, of which my eyes gaze to,

are our conversations, here can be seen.

Happiness intertwined between us two;

I wept as I continued to scroll,

I read our good jokes, and I laughed too.

How sad, that the Deity cast a roll,

As the Heav'nly Harvester reaped the fruit;

Under your shadow, Death easily crawled.

This is the new normal, as people say,

Unable to attend, afar I pray.