They work with herbs <br />and penicillin <br />They work with gentleness <br />and the scalpel. <br />They dig out the cancer, <br />close an incision <br />and say a prayer <br />to the poverty of the skin. <br />They are not Gods <br />though they would like to be; <br />they are only a human <br />trying to fix up a human. <br />Many humans die. <br />They die like the tender, <br />palpitating berries <br />in November. <br />But all along the doctors remember: <br />First do no harm. <br />They would kiss if it would heal. <br />It would not heal. <br /> <br />If the doctors cure <br />then the sun sees it. <br />If the doctors kill <br />then the earth hides it. <br />The doctors should fear arrogance <br />more than cardiac arrest. <br />If they are too proud, <br />and some are, <br />then they leave home on horseback <br />but God returns them on foot.<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/doctors-9/
