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Morphine

At some point, I know that Ms. Evans will visit.
She'll come on a cloud, in a long, flowing gown,
And she'll beckon to me with her glove-covered
Hand, and she'll whisper, 'Oh, Theodore, how
I have waited to feel you caress me and savor
Your kiss, ' and she won't bring me medicine,
Nor will she take any blood, and this room,
With its hoses and instruments, won't be so
Dismal, so sterile and cold. It will blossom
Into an ornate, royal hall, and I won't be a
Patient. I'll become a prince, who is healthy
And handsome, and pursued by women,
Not one in a uniform, from every realm.
I will treat them politely while saving my
Heart for Ms. Evans. At some point,
She'll come.

poem by Lawrence Beck
Added by Poetry Lover
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