Darling’s sting, Yet we face. Be it monsoon,Or November’s grace. Nets and vests,All in shambles. In sleepless nights,Everyone scrambles. Lights and tube-lights,On its fumble.Darling’s almost,Prepared to mumble.Melodious it sings,A song in slumber.Bites it everywhere,Without being humble.Never it distinguishes,Aunty or Uncle.Gives a tough time,In home or jungle.Remember it’s high time,To make it crumble.Otherwise jumps up,And swiftly assembles.Corona, the virus,Has made us mental.Forgetting all darling’s,Redly and deadly scandals.