The specialist, with honors on his wall,
Began his quest to learn and know it all.
He mastered skin, its layers, and its glands,
And held the maps of HS in his hands.
He narrowed focus, year by painful year,
To chase a single, cellular career.
He left the body, messy and untrue,
To praise the cytokines he knew.
He mapped the network, every branching path,
That led the body to its painful wrath.
He knew the downstream chaos, how it spread,
But not the upstream source and how its fed.
He learned more and more about the trace,
The less and less of cause, which lost its place.
He knew everything about the part,
But not see the body whole, with a beating heart.
But what about my diet? I implied,
He smiled, a chart of data at his side.
The links are weak, the evidence is thin,
Let’s start this biologic, let the real work begin.
He knows his cell, he knows the burning spot,
The everything his narrow focus got.
But how can he, so specialized and wise,
Not see the body that’s burning fore his eyes?