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Some men had pledg'd their hard-earn'd property,
To men with trust to make profit somehow;
The latter’s performance was so dirty,
They aimed to loot and blamed poor worker's show.
These kingpins brought in such corrupt workmen,
Who stripp'd the place threadbare to skeleton;
And turn'd it soon into a vice-filled den;
No one can crack the whip or use baton.
No soul is honest or dedicated;
The corruption-level is very high;
To fools all power is relegated;
The patients poor come here mostly to die?
Oh what a place, so fine and wretched yet?
It needs revamping right from scratch, I bet.
Dr John Celes
Read poems about / on: trust, power
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