Death.

It hangs over the city

Like a cloud of dust.

They lie,

Cold, hard and diseased

In the streets.

Waiting.

Waiting to be buried,

To be put away in a giant grave

Quickly.

Massively.

Anonymously.

Death.

He stares them all in the face,

Sparing no one from his cold touch,

He waits

To bring them all into his cold embrace.

Men,

Woman,

Grandparents,

Children.

Death.

The world sees.

Sees the flattened buildings,

The broken lives,

The hungry eyes.

They see. . . 

and they act.

A flood comes.

A flood of doctors,

Money,

Food,

Water,

Help.

It all comes in and floods the island.

It comes from a boy, who rides five miles.

It comes from a girl, who pushes her school into action.

It comes from a woman, who goes as a nurse and will never return.

It comes from a man, who stirs up a nation.

It comes from the world.

And it is this that we live for.

When the cry from a small island,

the third poorest in the world,

Pulls us together

And we forget all else

But our goal.

To help.