Within the night forms dark and light
Converge upon the grass.
At the gate we rest and wait
Until the dangers pass.
Then fighters proud with head unbowed
Proclaim their victory wide,
But some lie still on distant hill
And we move to their side.
Bodies torn, blank eyes forlorn
Request a healer's grace.
Our duty calls. To us it falls
To ease pain from each face.
The dead shall breathe. Those hurt perceive
Their injuries now gone.
We raise blind eyes to seek the skies
And approaching dawn.
You know our days. You track our ways
In every ancient scar.
We few are blessed to free the rest
From injuries that mar.
We take your pain. As our lives drain
We seem not pain to heed.
And yet-- we feel, we folk who heal.
Remember that we bleed.