Sgt. Will Rupel with captured Russian gun
                                  (credit: Wikimedia Commons) 

                             

                                                 (credit: Wikipedia) 

Florence Nightingale 

Lady with the Lamp, exhausted

One warm night, near Balaclava,

Drinking brandy, speaking bitter,

Muttered: 

“I must change this apron;

Corporal Jones was quite a shitter.

“Men can’t seem to stop their warring.

Pers’nally, I think it’s stupid:

Brats confronting brats by tantrums;

Politicians’ noble causes,

Noble as their sagging asses.

“What’s a woman meant to do here?

Sterile instruments and dressings,

Sutures, sheets, and even pillows:

Cleanliness, complete, fanatic,

Soothing words and smiles -- unfailing.

“Which will get to home? Can’t say here.

But I know that more will do so.

More will get home from their stay here.

“Policy and practice matter,

More than all their manly chatter

Of their strategies and tactics.

“Change the focus off of dying; 

Change the focus to surviving.

One day, war wears out and ceases.

“This day, if one single soldier

Gets to go home to his mother

To his sweetheart -- live and prosper  --

I will be more than contented.

“I have long since ceased to listen

To the politicians’ speeches.

I can do the things that I do.

Nothing changes old men’s habits,

Learned from old men, learned from old men,

Nor the simple, wide-eyed trusting

Of the young for so-called leaders.  

  

“God, please grant me full attention,

In the moment, in my station.

I will do more good tomorrow  

Than the sum of kings and generals

Since the time of Cain and Abel.

“Now we sleep for just three hours.

Brandy has its decent uses.

“Out! Get out!! I’m spent. But call me.

Call me at four thirty latest.

Now get out! No more explaining!

No more, just get out!!”

   
                                 
                             (credit: Wellcome collection, via Wikimedia Commons)