Great Ormond Street, 1987
You don’t recall, being so young,
The spectre of each cot:
Wires straggling up to screens
That told some secret story;
The hurried smiles,
Eyes grim with care,
In your first moments;
Willing science to mend
What nature had left unfinished.
Technology can’t heal
The hours
That fear for breath.
Pacing that ward,
We listened for the note
Of lives so small,
Now amplified
To fill a room:
The message of each heart
Defining a universe.
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