There are some who call me...Tim

Navigate
+ Latest Entry
+ Older Entries


Site Information
+ Profile
+ Host
+ Recommend Me


Contact Information
+ E-Mail
+ Diaryland Notes


My Band Links (New and Old)
+ Bad Directions
+ Lickin' Lolli
+ PsychoKnife


IMPORTANT LINKS
+ NCLR
+ James Randi
+ Left Hand Brewery!


Must Read
+ Stepfordtart
+ GolfWidow
+ Kristin Tracy
+ Dusty Scott

+ annanotbob

+ Daniel

join my Notify List and get email when I update my site:
email:
Powered by NotifyList.com

Designed by Golf Widow

2005-07-27 ó 7:41 a.m.

A thank you to nurses everywhere

Here's poem that I wrote a long time ago. It was written for my sister, Michele, who was just getting ready to graduate from nursing school. One of the highlights of my life was reading this poem to her graduating class. Even though it was written for Michele, it's a tribute to nurses everywhere.


To One Who Would Become A Nurse

In these few lines of simple verse
Which come unbidden, without rehearse
I reveal to you the bitter curse
Of the one who would become a nurse.

'Tis a foul and wretched curse indeed
Such a thing might cause your soul to bleed
Not unlike the ones who'll need
Your tender touch, but cannot plead.

The skill and knowledge you will learn
Must heal those maladies undiscerned
You must be clever, all times concerned
For that child just brought, so badly burned.

For the young, infirm, or heads of gray
Who need your help to find their way
Perhaps all night, bedside to stay
So that they might live another day.

The spirited lad who just got lice
The noble woman, legs broken twice
The man whose ulcer dislikes hot spice
And the drunken driver's sacrifice.

Cursed you are to always care
A ready smile, kind words to share
Scholarly advice and goodwill to spare
Finding that vein that just MUST be there.

All to nurture without compromise
To feel the grief when a stranger dies
The scream of life as a newborn cries
The tears of joy in its mother's eyes.

You must suffer all of these things
The bed down the hall with squeaky springs
The recovered heartbeat, the song it sings
Yet the respect of death, and what he brings.

Think not for a moment that you might fail
Even when your eyes see skin so pale
When your arms comfort the elder manís wail
Your pure golden heart will always prevail.

There are so many things that you must do
Your love and care must be ever true
Your abilities shall see you through
And from one you have aided, I'm thanking you.

Timothy J. Stough 13Aug92 1:42am

previous - next


Want to comment? Speak up! 0 Quips to Date



Last Five Entries

Goin' back to Cali - 2011-05-10
Healing - 2011-01-27
What if I hadn't done that? - 2010-11-10
Cousin Dave - 2010-09-13
Back to Spokane - 2010-08-25


Rings