I dreamed I met
William Osler last night
alive as me and you.
“I am bones clad in flesh”,
he said, a plastic
windpipe in accord.
We talked of the
death of medicine.
And how masks are worn,
and then become our face.
A stethoscope around his neck,
he told me too few are
chained by ethos and morals.
“What about you?” he asked.
Before I could answer,
a lady with a lamp appeared –
a fire inside her.
And everything was silent again.
All beyond the call of duty,
I thought.
A Wandering Poet 