Duty can be Hell

Wearing whatever could be made in time,

he strolled the corridors of need,

knowing that his work would wrest

a grieving groan from his gambolling gut.


He smiled through his mask, at a

mountain of plastic moving slowly

on tired feet and eyes that showed the

shadows of pain and further tragic loss.


Donning his mound of clean clothes

and a mask fitted to his contours,

he wrestled with his soul and prayed

for today to be better that any yesterday.


Entering the intensive care ward area

he looked for faces he knew, people

he ventilated, he’d held their hands

willing them back to breathing, health and life.


Some waved a hand and some were

gone, and others were in their beds,

while a nurse whispered the numbers

and told him of her friend who was dead.


Tasting the bitter gall of perseverance,

he worked through with courage and care,

stopping to encourage and weep, for

the ones who were no longer lying there.


At last, he was relieved as another took

his place, and peeling off the layers he

remembered the face of the woman

who was recovering, and would see her


family again -he smiled recalling her smile

giving him the strength to 

go on.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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