Michele Irvine

Rushing here, rushing there,
Nurses, frantic everywhere.
Overworked, underpaid,
That's what we are, readymade.
From making beds to post-op care,
All degradation that we bear.
We have all lives, in our palm,
No matter what, we keep calm.
Funny how, we're supposed to be,
Lots of things, yet charge no fee.
Professionals can name their price,
But nurses can't, they're too nice.
Their first aim is to care for others,
Yet have no time to be real mothers.
We have to work a lot more hours,
Thanks to those in higher powers.
Let them follow us all week,
And watch them change from mild to meek.
That's right, M.Ps, we have a degree.
Do you, I wonder, let us see.
You're allowed an increase in pay,
But I'd start to worry, when you have your day,
In a hospital bed with a nurse to tend,
Your every need, we have to fend.
So, a word of advice, take your pick.
Politicians, don't get sick!

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