Healer Poem by Deborah J Richard

She softly steps in to sense and assess
Her instincts refined, she can do no less

Is it cut or sore; or of the mind?
No difference to her; no matter the kind

She prods, she sniffs; can't help but lick
Her mission at hand, to cure the sick

So sad that she, will never be mother
Instead, resigned, to be healer of others


(December 5,2015 Escondido, California, USA)
(c) Copyright 2015 by Deborah J Richard, All Rights Reserved