You are like a line of windows,
All of a design, smelt by the nose;
It is an abode of medical care
Of a remedy and an endless affair.
Your adventures are anywhere and beware
Of the obstacles that mean misery, an armchair;
The arms are sound and the legs may crave
For more room and air, the very brave.
Yolks of eggs are gulped by the nurses,
Think the innocent minds of mad men, he loses;
Who? The doctor. The consultant deserves life
And beyond us he stands, in liquid air, maybe with a knife.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
you are the first person ive come across who loves the hospital.to me its a symbol of suffering well penned poem hey.