The Surgeon We Love The Most Poem by Fatima Alzhara Rafa

No soul has been kinder; when their eyes tear, they make the clouds cry with them.
If mercy were given a form, it would be them again and again.
You only find them as you find a gem.
They touch the scalpel as if it weighs less than mass.
In their figure, you will miss it in its absence.
Access to a surgeon is a blessing, only steps beneath the angel guards.
No doubt they are one of God's favorites.
This scalpel is a mercy.
They invent, and what an example they present.
And they will stay well remembered—
with a thousand good prayers their patients sent.