Colin F. Jones
I lay dying in an army bed,
Distressed and tortured by great pain,
With great rats running through my head,
Out one ear and back again!
It was doctors! Nurses; Army clad,
That formed the rows of hazy hopes,
That I’d not die nor go mad,
As I swam the contours of those slopes.
Theirs was the horror mine the dream,
For I knew that I would never die,
With those beaut docs in medical green,
Who kept alight my fading eye.
For doctors I do thank the God,
Who made them from such sacred sod.
©Copyright April 28, 2002 by Colin F. Jones
Author’s Note: For Becky Grey Eagle