Medicine For The People

He went, at nine o'clock to bed
and in the morning was stone dead.
The doctor came to look and see
if they had thought of his big fee.

He saw the bottle of green pills
(he had prescribed them for all ills) ,
and quickly took them from the sink
he did not need the wife to think

that something in the pills was phony,
and that the treatment was baloney.
For, in the end it was our God
who did decide and gave the nod.

Meanwhile the dead one, on his flight
up to the gates where well he might
gain entrance to the Paradise
had now begun to realise

that all the doctors in the world
should into raging seas be hurled,
unknown the fate of all disease
the doctor, though collects the fees.

by Herbert Nehrlich

Comments (2)

What a devastating poem...and just when I thought all doctors were knights in shining...you know...Good poem. Raynette
They make you think by giving all sorts of pills you'll have a longer life but all they do is collect the money......good poem!