Trevor Morgan

THE “SPLEEN IN BED NUMBER FOUR”

You may feel that you are quite whole
To doctors you’re just one more chore
You may feel that you have a soul
But one day you may be no more
Than the “spleen in bed number four”
Yes doctors must be in control
In all the decisions they take
So you’ll be deprived of your soul
And it’s all for science’s sake
Reduced to an organ you’ll lie
Somewhere that they ‘care’ for the sick
As your soul takes flight and you die
The records clerk notes with a tick
No matter how hard you have tried
Despite all you’ve done here before
Their note will record that you died
As the “spleen in bed number four”