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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required THE NIGHTINGALE LOST HER LAMP Anita’s eyes were brown. She was the kindest of angels. Her speech firm with authority but reassuring with a glass- like sensitivity; she seemed to know all. Prompt as a rooster's first crow, that's how she is. She stands like a lioness ever ready to act, a channel to prolong the patient's life. Her heart is a captive cog of dedicated compassion: as a wife, as a mother, as a Dean, Professor, and as a nurse. She stood always regal in white. Bearing a sanction of life and death with each shot made by her gentle hands. She had Tiger eyes for signs and symptoms; sponges to absorb order and pressures, she was simply a lamp for a sick person. Our batch, she handles with iron fist. Labeled as "black sheep" – for some of us are noisy cans but empty inside. Black sheep but later turned into the cream of the crop. She stood as our Samson pillars then despite canyons of doubts and critiques, our batch defies the odds. Yet, one day a snapshot happened – She fainted while teaching. She was brought to the hospital, scrutinized and observed like the frog in my sophomore year. I was one of the nurses who rendered care. I watched, how the shining light in her eyes turned to stormy sadness. I have heard how her sturdy voice now sounded a tattered tape only syllables and groans, no more. Her before supple glowing skin turned a wrinkled ash — all tautness gone. Finally, she needs only bags of blood in two days her life passed my Anita... _______________________________________________________ Sponsor Thomas Martin Contest Name Show but Don't Tell Placed 3rd... O.E. Guillermo 5:15 pm, May 19, 2015
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