Rows

Rows of soft white beds
To each life owes
A healing promise
To those we'll miss
Laid in bedclothes
Doctors are not foes
But may not succeed
With the kiss of life
We compose ourselves
Reciting creeds
And words we'll tell
Our heroes
If they awake
From their doze
But now only heartache
And old happy photos
Rows of beds, soft and white
Which we don't want to see
We've said goodnight
And now we try to make
Each day
As good as can be