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A doctor and A poet

When I was down with cold and fever
She came up
with precautions and pills:
'What keeps us alive and what kills'.

When she was broken, shattered
lull abominably ,
I read her
Tennyson and Shelley :
"If winter comes, can Spring be far behind ?"
and again and again
"If winter comes, can Spring be far behind ?"

She is a doctor
I am a poet.
She cures everything,
everything and everything.
I cure anything
that she can't.

But one day
When a little prince
came to her first and then me
for a simple investigation
of his life and agony
"If Its love or not ? "

She did all tests, yet denied to comment.
I read all literature yet denied to conclude .

God !
What can be the valour of that pain,
Doctors can't treat, Poets can't sweeten. 

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