It was down a dark corridor
That the Doctor paced across the tile floor
Sweat beaded upon his forehead
His indecision could easily be read

In front of him was a door
That contained his ailing patients,
Rwanda
and
Darfur

He peered into the window and what he saw
Was human suffering in the raw

“I’m sorry!” He cried
To the patients inside
“It is not my problem if you live or die,
My services are too expensive for you to buy.
I may have helped, you see,
But I will not treat you because you may infect me.”

It was then that the Doctor left
His conscience was cleared
While the sores on Rwanda and Darfur still seared
Without aid all they had to look forward to was death
Rwanda choked as the disease stole his last breath

“What is wrong with the world today?”

Darfur

screamed
“Surely not everyone can be consumed by indifference and greed?”

Days later Darfur died
But no one knew and no one cared
So Rwanda and Darfur were left rotting inside.