I remember in my youth reading Decameron,

The Boccaccio masterpiece of time long gone,

Nowadays, it seems we have a repeat, (dare I say),

Exposed to the plague without a good word or pray,

All I need to do now is find nine more story tellers,

Neighbours, residents or friends, same city dwellers,

Together we’ll spend the next few years telling a tale,

Sitting indoors, in our apartments, self imposed jail,

Maybe in seven hundred years our tale be told,

How in 2020 we almost came to the end of the world