Poem -

Microbe Invasion

Disease.
A word meaning "unease".
Genuine, with no hint of appease.
Upsets people who are squeamish.

Small, unseen.
Invisible. Deadly.
Like a mini army,
except
more destructive
than one knows.

A soldier charges.
He enters the host.
Goes through his nose.
Cuts through
the line of defenses.
All the while
keeping up his senses.

He reaches his destination
Gives a signal.
Comrades join.

Attack.
Cold, cruel.
A malevolent pool.

And
it should be surprising
that
these soldiers' rising
can happen
because
of one small sneeze
that spreads these nasty armies
much like fleas
on an old mattress.

Or maybe a small cough.
Even if you're tough....
You shall succumb.

Today I come home.
Wash my hands.
Slow my pace.
Clean my face.

And then,
Every night before bed
I pray- a newly formed habit.

I pray for the sick, even if I feel gray.
And hope they will, one day
Fight off the invading soldiers
And yell: "Hooray!"

I close this off with a final short end-word
that you may have heard
countless times.

Go Wuhan! You can do it!.

Β 

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