the child wanders
dirt under calloused feet
the fly that comes to sit
never gets brushed away
they walk and walk
looking to play
a pool of dirty water
the children play anyway
hot suns blazes
baking everything in its path
this land is barren
there are no trees here, no flowers,
just flies, dust. and the sun
there are no butterlies here
one child to another the virus replicates
splitting each liquid cell
the life drains out
the gel just oozes out into the water
depletes
the fever gets higher
the child looks around
there are no butterlifes here
tears slide down the little brown cheek
the big brown wide eyes of innocence
are not that innocent anymore
suffering alone the child lays down
