Who is it that comes at dead of night
In dark blue gown, and apron white
And gently asks, are you alright?
Who is it then, with noiseless tread
Goes softly round from bed to bed,
And shakes your pillow, lifts your head,
Who is it keeps to morning light
a lovely faithful watch all night,
Yet calls us with a smile so bright.
Who when the dim night hours are done
And the days busy work begun
Is as active then, as anyone.
Whoever patient, thoughtful and kind
Will no unpleasant duty mind
In whom a friend we always find.
Who when the day begins to wane
Cheers us with her bright smile again,
And robs the night of half its pain.
This poem was written in the 1950’s by a grateful patient.