Florence Nightingale - a nurse - pictured in her mind the curse
Of wound uncared for, gangrened limb, soldiers lying tortured, grim.
To go was hard .... to not was even worse!
And thus, a great tradition came, to make the dying and the lame,
The sick and lacerated, well; to bring encouragement, and dwell
With those in need. Christ did the same.
Yes, others filled her sacred place, when death had stilled her careful face:
In peace at home, as well as war. And you have followed, Eleanor.
May your reward be God's good Grace upon your home, for evermore.
David K. Gilchrist
Makes me think that ...
In a note on the poem the author says this poem is "A tribute to a 1949-50 classmate's decision to go into nursing."
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