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A true poem about watching open heart surgery
A student medic then, I watched in awe
The gaping chest, the restless heart, the focused team
I’ve never been invited here before
I want to ask a question, show I’m keen
Amid the serious knives there stands apart
A kitchen turkey-baster, can it be?
The surgeon takes it, squirts the squirming heart
And so the killer question comes to me
“What’s that for?”
Without a second’s pause came the reply:
“For distributing happiness” he said
And it did
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