Dark side of Ebola in Africa

In the heart of Africa, where rivers run deep, A silent whisper wakes, disturbing sleep. It comes in shadows, unseen, unheard, A fevered breath, a fatal word. Ebola, they say, with fear in their eyes, A name that echoes, a name that cries. It slips through villages, quiet as night, Leaving only sorrow in its dreadful flight. Mothers wail, their children gone, Fathers kneel, hope withdrawn. The soil bears witness to tears and grief, As life is stolen, swift and brief. In white suits, the healers fight, But the battle is dark, and there's little light. The land, once vibrant, now wears a shroud, Beneath the weight of a deadly cloud. Yet in this storm, we find our grace, In the clasped hands, in the human race. For every tear that falls in pain, A spirit rises to heal again. Africa, strong in every bone, Even in darkness, you're never alone. For in your heart, the sun will rise, And cleanse the blood from your skies. Ebola may come, and Ebola may go, But the strength of a people will always grow.