My Clinic
My clinic is a ‘church’ in which I pray;
Not many patients flock in anyway;
Some rosaries I manage to well say;
This keeps both devils and my foes away.
The ones that come are poorer than they seem;
‘The rich in cars come only in my dream.’
Most patients brush their teeth with only neem;
My words of solace make their faces gleam.
So, can I fleece my brethren poor and ill?
Can I then hand them inflated a bill?
Can I charge them for just a sample pill?
They live despite the doctor’s care by ‘will! ’
I long to see more patients but be wise;
I dare not try to anyway entice;
My profession is sacrosanct and nice;
I cannot let it turn into a vice!
The only thing I hate is waste my time;
The other thing I hate’s a rainy clime;
But everyday, I write aplenty rime;
I never mind if I earn just a dime!
I scooter daily not more than a mile;
I feel so happy seeing patients smile;
Becoming rich is not my beloved style;
My heart abounds with joy when poor souls file.
When will my practice pick up? - I don’t know;
To God, my art of healing, I just owe;
Rewards in heaven wait for righteous, oh!
To ways God makes me walk, I say not, ‘No! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 7-10-2006
poem by John Celes
Added by Poetry Lover
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