Dr. P. Patel, Cardiologist his Admirer Is In Pain Poem by James McLain

In one sterile theater where whispers flow,
A healer walks with steps that glow,
His touch as soft as falling snow,
Yet keen as dawn's first piercing light.

Through quiet eyes, so deep, so wise,
He sees the storms within my veins,
And though my weary spirit sighs,
He slows my pulse and relieves the pain.

His hands, a map of skill and grace,
Trace pathways time and trials conceal,
He listens close, he knows my face,
And speaks the words that start to heal.

A problem-solver, steady, sure,
He bends to find what others miss,
With heart so steadfast, strong, and pure,
He turns the tide with care's sweet kiss.

Though pain still lingers, dark and deep,
A gracious light has touched my soul,
And in his hands, my faith will keep,
A thread of hope to make me whole.

For kindness hums in all he's done,
Like morning's hush, like twilight's tune,
And though my battles are not won,
His voice still shines, a silver moon.