Lying in bed,
In contrast to flowers red,
The ill look very frail,
With skin yellow and pale.

The smell of medicine,
Sharp to the nose of kin,
Do prevent hours spent.
And hospital patients resent,
The loss of visitors,
Due to intoxicators.

Hospital does become home,
A place of solitary dome.
But yeild not we must,
Visit the sick or rust.

Our hearts have hardened,
Compassion has lessened,
Selfish lives are lived,
And no one wants to be burdened.
Change we must and co-operate,
Or society will evaporate.

Hospital clowns must increase,
Bringing smiles that shouldn't cease,
On faces of children,
With time ridden.