A stethoscope hums like a lullaby,
whispering hope through hallways bathed in white.
I cradle lives in my palms, tender as a mother’s embrace,
measuring breaths, steady as the tick of a clock.
The sterile scent of antiseptic mingles with the warmth of a baby’s powdered skin.
At dawn, the sky blushes like flushed cheeks,
as I trade scrubs for a child’s sticky fingers,
their laughter a melody, sharp and sweet.
Between healing wounds and wiping tears,
time bends like a willow in the wind.
Each heartbeat, a cadence of love and purpose,
Its rhythm echoing in two worlds made whole.