Born with the name of healing,
They’re exceptional in their way of dealing.
Hard is to earn that “Dr” title,
In their hands lay, so many lives’ vitals.
An honour to cherish,
An identity to never relinquish.
They learn to cure,
For they shake hands with life to be sure.
Hours of perseverance,
Nights of disciplined skeleton adherence.
At birth, they are the first to pick,
At death, they are the last to pick.
They make sacrifices,
Making the best with supplies.
Their own life is secondary,
They turn up to treat their patient with priority.
That white coat,
Peace, they carry in their throat.
Their patients treat them as God,
Doctors never consider their patients odd.
New Years, Christmas, birthdays,
With patients they celebrate all the days.
Being two doctors’ daughter,
I never fail to flaunt the pride of how they make life broader.