What Keeps Me Sane

Though doom may loom, I’m in the womb,
Cocooned and thus protected.
Yet stuck in place, without much space,
My psyche’s been affected.

What keeps me sane in my domain
Is walking in the morning
Before the dawn has brightly drawn
Its pink and purple warning.

My hour out, without a doubt,
Is like a giant tether,
Connecting me to what must be
My only taste of weather.

For what I need to still proceed,
In quarantine’s restriction,
Is air and sky; without them I
Would die. (That’s my prediction.)