God Calls Them Young Poem by Venkateswaran Krishnan Sreenivasan

There was once a doctor
Good at heart and a benefactor
Ministering to the sick and ailing
In total faith unfailing

Sun or shower or the dead of night
He reached out to the patient in distressed plight
He would trek to his home at untimely hour
To give succor that was in his power.

His patients placed him in their heart
Closest to God for his own part
In healing their woes, wound or wart
And he was ever content with what he got.

He didn’t serve with an eye on rewards
Nor did he care for the golden awards
That follow the hype of treating the elite
He prayed for the patient’s cure, his sole delight.

His patients loved and adored him like God;
These days, he would be called a fraud
Who makes up for his want of skill
By his gimmicks and words with frill

He found no time for food or sleep
Into his own ailments, he didn’t probe deep
His family and friends couldn’t suffer to keep
Their peace with his decline steep

Long did not the doctor’s earthly mission last;
A few days passed and the doctor breathed his last
The doctor’s last words in his notebook read:
“I have a call from the Lord to sleep on His bed”