Hallo and greetings, knight-at-arms,

all PPE accoutred!

Your presence conjures fresh alarms.

What variant is bruited?

 

What apprehension holds you here,

when deadly foes are ravening?

 ‘The sedge is withered from the lake

and no birds sing.’

 

‘I see pale crowds in multitudes,

with fever moist and blue of lip

they cry, La Belle Dame sans merci

has us in grip.’

 

‘And that is why embattled here

on never-ending trials 

I labour like a Hercules

with viruses and vials.’