To the Editor:
To our Noble Lord Pritzker:
My Lord, we wail in sorrow. Please lord, let us breathe without thy cloth upon our face. Sir we beg of you to let us breathe free; for we will increase our labours to please you, Lord, if you have mercy for our wishes.
My Lord, may we enjoy a pint at the pub? We know none of our wisdom matches yours, Sir, but our thirst must be quenched. The loneliness of winter is bleak. Sir, let us brighten our spirits in the pubs with kin.
We all relish in the pleasure to send the fruits of our labours to you, Sir, but you’ve shut us down. Lord how shall we send our tax? We know our existence is nothing without you, dear Lord. We’re beyond grateful for your specialized medical knowledge in keeping us safe, for we know not what is good for our own.
Humble Lord, we bow and kneel in obedience to your every wish, but we’re hungry and running broke. Please lord, hear our cries, for we know you actions aren’t at fault.
Eric B. Theisen