The doctor made the incision and checked the blood:
And I thought of a miner, half-reverently, half-wearily cutting soft earth,
Picking out lumps of dead silver...
But the picture changed when the doctor sewed up the wound,
And I saw a middle-aged woman gravely mending a limp rag...
The little cart disappeared,
And the doctor locked his instrument case as carelessly
As a child closes an old box of blocks:
And the nurses were once more bits of sky with thick clouds.