Daniel Ilyas ilyas


doctors


lie abed
hearing about Pain and death,
Conferring in my head

They speak in professional tones,
really professional and low
Argues for fast cure
the other calm and sure slow

So humble as myself
matter for some pride
to noted fellows
Discussing at my side

We die so unexpected
leaving precious plans unapproved
Who can entreat death, holding its hands!

I question, who!

The creation, by God
so amazing!

I swear by him,
that they are doctors, who serve man's clay

I know that one blessed blossom breeze
when I stand on stage
Holding the certificate
knowing I am one

Submitted: Saturday, November 02, 2013
Edited: Sunday, November 03, 2013
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

This poem shows my feeling towards the profession of a doctor. I am blossom and want to be a doctor.

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