Whooping cough
From morning till night
There are only herbs
Some leaves of grass
Soaked in water
Inside a tin cup
That advised to be taken
as Medicine
The sound is reverberating
In the town
And no one seems to mind
What to do about it
It cannot be stopped
The people wait
For another wailing sound
Someone bedridden
Just passed away
Another cough is on the way
Today and it will
From morning till night
And as usual the people wait
There is nothing that can be done
About it
The sounds of poverty reverberate
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