That girl next door, could not care,
she had Amelia Dyer’s ghost in there,
like an anaconda, she did squeeze,
the lives, out of all those babies,
in three years, she became a reaper,
upon the ward, a silent creeper,
hope in bottles, her chosen tools,
to transform into something cruel,
cylindrical malice, betrayed the trust,
but some who saw, were told to hush,
giving more time, for her to slither,
to make the paediatrics shiver,
thus, loose safeguarding, muted cries,
prolonging a monster, with fair eyes,
who made a clinic, a killing field,
where the newborns, had no shield,
with what she was, you spelt it wrong,
not a nurse, a curse, that was too strong,
for those seven, who dwell in urns,
no such closure, as families yearn,
six, and four thousand more,
could have been slain, upon the floor,
a sick desire, only she could live,
this walking, talking sedative,
let she be called: “Molester of Chester”,
where in a cell, she’ll begin to fester,
but please keep watch, diligent scout,
can’t have her, taking the easy way out.