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Poetry

Medic

 

A man is down, the call goes out,

“MEDIC”, the cry ripples like a wave,

Response is quick, for without a doubt,

Our skills are needed, a life to save.

 

These soldiers are our friends,

Closer than brothers are we,

Now, upon us their life depends,

We treat their wounds on bended knee.

 

We treat the body, the soul, the mind,

With open heart, trained eye and hand,

With diligence their wounds we bind,

We do our best to save as many as we can.

 

We fight a powerful enemy we cannot see,

For he stalks our friends by night and day,

Death himself is a Medics only real enemy,

Between death and friends is where we stay.

 

We fight our enemy not with knife or gun,

But with faith, and hope, and skill,

We never give up until the battle is done,

Fighting to preserve life, not to kill.

 

To the battles we lose, we can only say,

To our brothers, we did give our all,

For those we have lost along the way,

Your memories will never fail, or fall.

 

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