Almost every spring, the bluebells cast their heads down,
as if embarrassed by the adoration they receive.
This year, the flowers have grown unremarked,
turned invisible on the edges of almost-empty streets.
Their uninvited beauty is unnoticed and unappreciated;
they’ve become another weed the privileged cannot see.
Many complain of being trapped inside with their every luxury,
but few spare a thought for people without homes for quarantine.
When life returns again to normal, and summer flowers begin,
who will remember the suffering that never ends
for lives always ignored and unseen?
by Daniele Nunziata