The Old Doc.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A Poem about a very dedicated Doctor,

Submitted: February 20, 2007

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Submitted: February 20, 2007




The day was long and it was so cold,

He was so tired, his joints felt so old.

The pot belly stove, glowed an amber red.

The chill finally worked off and he was headed for bed.

A rapid knock brought him to his feet,

"Who on earth at this time?’ as he opened to greet.

A boy stood outside, close to the age of ten,

The old man knew him well, Called him young Ben.

‘It’s my ma," the boy’s voice pleaded.

"She’s got a terrible cough, and her head feels heated."

The old man trembled as a blast of wind scoured the door,

He wanted to beg off, he was still tired and sore.

But he cuffed the boy’s shoulder, invited him inside,

"Stay by the heat, I’ll take the ride."

Old Bessie was contankerous, her stall was nice and warm.

But she took the bit in her mouth, soon he was headed for the farm.

The night was deathly cold, seemed thirty below.

He wrapped the blanket around him, waiting for the farm lights to show.

He couldn’t do much for the woman, Her fever had reached it’s peak.

He clasped the woman’s hand, beside her, took a seat.

He could only console her, Kept a cool rag to her head.

Finally she calmed to rest, she slept the sleep of the dead.

The old man rose to his feet, It was time to head for home,

Though the farmer offered, he shook his balding dome.

"Thanks, but Old Bessie wants her stall. A bait of oats, I’ll get her fed.

Besides all that, you know Big Ben, I just prefer my own bed.’

He gave the farmer some medicine, "Give this to her when she wakes.

I’ll keep the boy at my house, until the storm abates."

The road was cold and lonely, Ice had began to fall.

Bessie picked up a step, she was sure wanting that stall.

He huddled in the blanket, though it gave no heat.

He yearned for his quilted cover, to slide in ‘tween the sheets.

The morning broke, ice cold blue, none ventured out until late.

The first the town folk saw, was Bessie standing before her corral gate.

Now that horse was the old man’s partner, he wouldn’t treat her that way,

They ran for the buggy, but they could tell they were much too late.

The funeral was three days later, Gently they laid him in a grave

A note was etched on his marker,

Didn’t have to go....... He was just that way.

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