Who is it that comes at dead of night

In dark blue gown, and apron white

And gently asks, are you alright?

Our Nurse

 

Who is it then, with noiseless tread

Goes softly round from bed to bed,

And shakes your pillow, lifts your head,

Our Nurse

 

Who is it keeps to morning light

a lovely faithful watch all night,

Yet calls us with a smile so bright.

Our Nurse.

 

Who when the dim night hours are done

And the days busy work begun

Is as active then, as anyone.

Our Nurse.

 

Whoever patient, thoughtful and kind

Will no unpleasant duty mind

In whom a friend we always find.

Our Nurse.

 

Who when the day begins to wane

Cheers us with her bright smile again,

And robs the night of half its pain.

Our Nurse.

This poem was written in the 1950’s by a grateful patient.