In a dimly lit hospital room,
An elderly, gray-haired woman lays.
As she feels the strength drain from her body,
She knows that she is at the end of her days.

Not that she is complaining,
Her life has been very good.
The good times had far outweighed the bad,
And she wouldn't change a thing if she could.

Though she had outlived a husband, daughter, and a son,
God had given her the strength to stand against the tide.
But now, in her final moments, she was alone,
With no family left to standby her side.

But as her breath grows shorter,
She feels a hand gently stroke her hair.
She feels a gentle squeeze of her hand,
And looks up to see a nurse standing there.

The nurse gives her a loving smile,
And whispers soft and low,
"You're not alone Honey."
"I'll be here until you have to go."

The elderly woman relaxes,
And closes her eyes to hear,
The singing of angels in the room,
As her end draws near.

Unseen to them both,
Behind the nurse Jesus quietly stands.
His one hand on the nurse's shoulder,
The other on the woman's hand.

Thanks to a caring nurse,
A little lady did not die alone.
And her last sight was of a kind face,
As Jesus took her home.

When the doctors all go home,
And the bookkeepers shut down their machines,
All that's left is the patients and death,
And the nurses to stand in between.

How important is the nurse,
When all hope is gone.
When all that is left is the holding of a hand.
And to ensure that no one dies alone.

by David Yarbrough
July 16, 2000

Thankyou, David. What a wonderful poem!

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