Philippa Foot, a thinker wise,
Proposed a moral game:
A twist designed to make you rise,
And act to earn your name.

A train runs wild; it will collide,
With five doomed on the track.
You're standing - watching from the side,
No way to call them back.

But near your hand, a lever waits:
One pull will shift the rail.
You change the train’s relentless fate,
But is this choice a fail?

It now will strike a single man,
But leave the group alive.
Yet he was safe before your plan,
Now HE will not survive.

To save the five, you claimed his life,
Was that the better plan?
A noble act, or something rife?
A group against one man?

So ask yourself: are five worth more
Than sacrificing one?
Or would it haunt you at your core,
No matter what was done?

If you had simply walked away,
The five would surely fall.
Yet choosing death for him that day
Still leaves you bearing all.

The lesson is no verdict clear,
No answer cast in stone:
The trolley’s track runs ever near,
And leaves the choice your own.

Doing nothing is not right
But neither is intervening,
You're always the killer - and the knight,
And THAT is the only true meaning.