Cards Of Care

Care is not a card on which is written everything,
Internal behaviour surprises nobody;
Cards of records are not enough to supply
Us with care of the sort that masters.
The doctor is rarely featured in magazines
For the entire day, the way is open for health.
The district of doctors heaps gold in the belly,
There is distrust, only some lust for one’s yell.
Distressed people are happier when the life
Is perfect and when you are unperturbed.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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