There was a book which held the tale

Of a certain Florence Nightingale

And every night, tucked in my bed,

I replayed the words inside my head

I learnt each page by rote, by heart

And there my own dreams found their start

I’d dream of doing God’s good work

Just like the lady in the book

And that was how I started to pray

To heal the sick, too, someday

And now I walk in the dead of night

Beneath the dim fluorescent lights

I strive to live for others, now

I gave up on myself, somehow

But late at night, when it gets hard,

And I feel like things are falling apart

I remember the lady with the lamp

Braving the cold, the dark, the damp

And I find courage in her tale

A nurse called Florence Nightingale

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