The pre-dawn chill, a silent gray, Another shift to start the day. The scrubs are clean, a shield of blue, To hide the tired that seeps right through. A practiced breath outside the door, And then she walks the floor once more.
The calls begin, a frantic choir Of urgent need and rising fire. A symphony of pump and beep, While promises are hers to keep. Pulled between a dozen rooms, Dispelling shadows, chasing glooms.
She wears a smile, a steady mask, For every single, heavy task. She holds the...