Incarnate, Florence Nightingale
Like a lily-white flightless Angel,
Did she not turn me from Hades
With the beckon of her shades?
With needles, scissors & strings
You’d say she clipped her wings;
Laying all supine where I bled
To land and to wipe all the red!
Was it vertigo or just a reverie
For adoring the lily-white lingerie
After rising from the cold dead
To see an Angel beside my head;
Not indignant; with nonchalance,
To Me; dozed chap in a trance
Believing not in my bleary eyes
But imagination or visual lies?
Picking spaghetti of thin strand
With a form of “cutlery” in hand
How I lusted her dutiful structure
As she worked out the suture.
Angel has landed with a thud
To heal the sick sucked in mud-
Would I, again, meet Angel sweet
Who’s elusive and so discreet!
20th December 2013