Poem to the Unknown Angels

 

 

1

 

            She walks quietly away

From the basket that’s full;

Left at the checkout of the convenience store,

The pain in her heart

And the ball in her throat;

Confusing an Angel that heals,

 

Passing the barcode over lasers –

The tiller gives a detachable smile,

But the tears of the Angel

Patrolling the wards for their cries,

Sting as the beeps with a monotone – bleep,

Confirm with deadness the babe that has died.

 

 

2

 

Paediatrics is more than a calling,

More than a need to cure

The bruised and diseased,

It’s a siding with Heaven for the

Innocents that bleed;

And a private excursion to hell.

 

 

3

 

Walking away is a nurse in grief,

Leaving the basket that’s full,

For the basket now empty –

For the parents to mourn,

Is a heart monitor

Ceasing to tell.

 

Mourning for each

And we never knowing,

Can only imagine their pain,

            But we’re only mortals

Celebrating each gain,

The gain of each life survived

On the wards,

Where Angels channel the hurt.

 

The sacrifice they make while the beep

Races the pulse,

Sets aside the strong from the weak,

And the strength of conviction

That God’s looking on,

Nurtures these stars for the sun.

 

            Winning in equity is the nurse on patrol,

            And the heavens accompany her side,

            She wins with her essence each infant she tends,

            And listens quietly the babe passing by

            And the signal that stops,

                        Is God in compassion;

                        Retaking the child that has tried.

 

                        (And the World seems too shallow

                        In understanding her smile     

                        As she lives with the mortal on Earth,

                        For the infants been saved –

                        For no grave,

                                    Can hold the life never lived,

                                    And she carries with strength

                                                Her sorrow and pride,

                                                And sides with her soul that she cries).

 

 

 

Michael J Waite 20^th June 2010.

 

You know who you are, big respects and much love.