by Sabine Sicaud
A doctor? Well, at least let him be fair,
Good-looking! But not all haughtily so.
Healthy, young, spirits high... Voice low
To talk about the out-of-doors, fresh air
Just loud enough to bring some sunlight in.
Let him know how to laugh-chagrin
Yawns in the corners of this sickroom, fills
It full-and how to make you laugh, poor thing,
Sick with your sickness and December ills.
December! Gray!... Christmas, meandering
Beneath a lead-and-ashen sky.
All of that dead December gray, descending...
Oughtn't a doctor know the "whence," the "why"?
Let him be bright and gay at daylight's ending
Rout fever's ghosts and night's unrest.
Let him tell us what we would like to hear:
Comforting words, spoken aloud or guessed.
Last updated March 19, 2023