The “last” Great War has ended.

And two months later,

Little Dolly plays with her little dollies, 

serving them pretend tea in the family dining area. 

Oh, how she was born to care for her little ones!

Her older brother would tease her. 

Her younger brother would gaze 

with wonder at the teatime ritual.

But the ghostly presence of a black carriage 

awaits ominously outside.

For the deathly Spanish Flu is about to strike,

Indiscriminately and shamelessly.

First the father,

Then the next day, 

the mother of the father,

And then, after eleven days of family anguish,

Poor Dolly of six years is gone.

The recent widow now grieves over a lost daughter.

Her two boys survive the infection,

And she carries on with life,

Raising her boys,

Never to remarry.

She often pondered through

that broken-hearted journey,

What kind of mother, aunt, 

and provider would Dolly have been?

One hundred and one years have now passed,

Since those dark days of the passing of Dolly.

The dutiful Dr. Molly, born to care for others,

Makes her rounds at the large urban hospital.

Now, a new deadly virus takes aim,

Striking victims in its path.

Many nations are unprepared.

Health care workers must defend,

Under great stress,

Lacking the necessities, 

Through government failings,

To honor their Hippocratic Oath.

The devoted Molly, unprotected,

In treating her patients,

Is herself exposed and stricken.

Under a mandate of social isolation,

There is no family grieving over her lifeless body.

Like Dolly’s father before her,

Dr. Molly’s legacy ends at thirty plus three years.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

D W Orr
Environmentalist, Weimaraner/Dachshund Companion, Photographer, and Poet-Provocateur
Harford County, Maryland,
Here, where it all began, 251 years ago, in the USA

April 1, 2020

Dolly & Molly