My dad infected me. Living with three persons in a tiny house was asking for problems. My head is bursting open and I have a fever. As soon as I better I will regain posting on my site.
I managed I tiny poem:
Head like cheese,
full of holes.
Fever makes the heatwave chilly.
I thought I wouldn’t get it,
but the virus got me.
How long will we have to live with this disease.
Today the world seems to exist only out of problems.