The child with fever will not eat.
Free modern clinics are nearby.
The parents choose old ways to treat,
Paying a week's earnings to try
To cure as always has been done.
To the healer the child does go.
The teeth are yanked out one by one.
The child is in agony so.
Sometimes the child gets better, and
Sometimes it's God's will the child die.
This the parents do understand.
The parents do not question why.
If the child does survive and grows.
This is the way that the child knows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem