Classic Poem

Doors ajar; and room past room
Cots, pale faces, flowers in bloom.

In and out the nurses wind,
Calm, inscrutable and kind.

Doors made fast: now destiny chooses;
Science wins and science loses;

Outer circles wait and cling;
Fear and hope go whispering.

Open doors: intent and always
Footsteps down the long white hallways.

Somewhere, far, an infant's cry —
For when we are born we begin to die.