There’s a house of medicine near me,
Built twenty years ago, where few
Procedures occupy their time.
Its size implies the opposite but once
Inside you find yourself within
A maze of winding corridors
Where people follow coloured
Lines upon the floor all day.
You’ll see a similar face
Wandering the place whenever you
Endeavour treatment of your own,
And they never stop to answer
Your requests as they’re all chasing
Snakes alone. And eventually
You realize the structure’s
Full of halls, and doors to further malls,
Where folk trudge ever forward to
A slew of waiting rooms to rest
Before continuing their quest until
They find they’re out front once
Again in need of nothing new,
And believably healed, and everybody
On the board applauds its bustle
And efficient turnaround.
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