I felt inspired and when dealing with things such as this pandemic, I somehow revert to an early English dialect.

Infectious foulness, thy pestilence carries truths encased with minuscule falsehoods. Thou hast shame for thy peril, cast far and wide, for thou art thyself thought blameless upon crested mounts of ingratitude’s, and so createth thine own enemy, seen or unseen, shall thy seek to tarnish thine own true lot.

Shame is thy mask thou portrays and, through thy deception, deceive all others gaze unknowing of thy power as it doth rest in pestilence and untruths.

Shame is thy armor, deception is thy robe blame rests upon those who languish, thus fates call upon them as thou people fall to thy whims of fancy.

Upon thine own lands lays thou people in lamentations for their loss. Does thou not see? Does thou not care to see? For in seeing thou must act, but to act, is to concede thine own hand imprinted upon deaths back.

Rather thou seeks to blame another far from thy lands, than focus thou attention upon thy people in need of thy assist this day. Care not from whom thy pestilence arose, but cast thy will upon the sufferance of thine own and make well thy people seeking not hope, but accomplished contrives for thy peoples time yet to come, to make the grounds once more fertile and thy riches bloom once more.

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