A marriage of humanity and medicine

Medical practice lay a-bed,
With fever to the core;
Sickness festered in her head,
While death passed by the door.

A string of suitors, all untrue,
Had left her bed of pain,
Parties of the third did woo—
Though not for love, but gain.

Big Pharma promised wonder drugs,
To ease the maiden’s plight,
True colors shown: this band of thugs,
Had raped her in the night.

So there she lay upon the cot,
Delirious, forsaken;
If she once had, she now had not—
Her very soul was shaken.

An ancient door eased open;
Humanity crept in
With tender thoughts unspoken
For dying medicine.

He slipped a hand in her hand,
Caressed the feverish brow;
He lingered by the night-stand,
Then turned the lantern low.

Humanity kept vigil
Close by throughout the night;
The heartbeat, once so feeble,
Had strengthened by first light.

When medicine awoke,
She stared into a face
That whispered words of comfort
And emanated grace.

So medicine was married,
Humanity, the groom;
Their grateful patients tarried
At tables in the room.

Now this is but a fable,
It never came to be—
Though fictions often lead to facts,
And blind men sometimes see.

2012 © Brian T. Maurer


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