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By Elton Camp

She was weak from vomiting and diarrhea
Blood ran from her gums onto her teeth

Her husband and sons had died horribly
Only she and daughter Anne remained

The whimpering child clutched her mother
Soon, there was no longer any response

Anne ran to the neighboring metal shack
“Help me!  I think mother is dead too.”

“Get away!” the family fearfully ordered
“You can’t come here. Go to your auntie.”

Her mother’s sister lived a half-mile away
The ten-year-old fled, stumbling, crying

“I can do nothing, child,” the aunt said 
“You must never come here again!”

Small and frail, Anne collapsed in the street
Passers-by diverting gazes, walked on

Not lack of care, but fear ruled the day
Anne was an outcast by no fault of hers

Hours passed as Anne grew ever weaker
A doctor in a yellow bio-suit appeared

A mask and goggle completed her protection
Anne could see only a pair of brown eyes

Desperately ill, she could only give her name
The Ebola treatment unit was her only hope

Anne was bathed, clothes burned, new ones given
But without direct contact--only a faceless nurse

Enshrouded in the manner of the doctor
No vaccine or cure could be offered

The health care workers must be kept safe
Spread of the infectious virus must stop

It was a lonely, terrifying time for Anne
Parents dead, rejected by friends and family

To save young Anne proved impossible
She began to bleed freely from her mouth

Her final hours were a terror of desperation
Anne died miserably, alone and frightened

The burial team sprayed her with disinfectant
The same done for the inside of the body bag

They slipped her inside and closed the zipper
Then added a second and third body bag

Open pits in the forest awaited
Red Liberian clay filled the grave

A crude, wooden marker erected
“In Memory, Anne Rathborne”
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