"A poem of Thanks"

A Poem of Thanks (with a Twist of Real Life)

To Enniskillen’s gentle crew,

And Derry’s finest healers too,

To nurses, docs, and kind ward aides,

Whose care cut through our fear like blades—

This note of thanks is just the start,

You’ve mended more than just one part.

Our daughter, small but brave,

Fell from her horse—Lilly, wild and grave.

Her arm gave way, her courage didn’t,

Though pain arrived, and mercy didn’t.

At first. But then—you all appeared,

With hands that soothed and words that steered.

We met a hundred faces bright,

All asking questions through the night,

All poking, prodding, checking scans,

Yet somehow made us feel like fans

At center stage in care’s great show,

Where everyone was in the know.

She laughed on gas, she spoke in Queen,

An English accent, quite the scene.

But laughter turned to silent screams—

The bone held fast, dashed all our dreams.

And off we went through hole and hill,

To Derry’s doors, through sheer goodwill.

The pins went in, the pain went down,

She sleeps tonight in dreamless crown.

And we—her worn, bewildered crew—

Were wrapped in blankets made of you.

But let me tell one thing not said:

When first we came, near full of dread—

The out-of-hours doors were locked up tight,

No soul in sight, no beaconed light.

And in my panic, pure and loud,

I forced the doors, not feeling proud.

Then came the words, quite stern and slick:

“The police are coming. That was quick.”

Yet no one came in cuffs or cars—

Just healing hands and midnight stars.

And though I slept on hard, cold stone,

Those hours felt like home alone.

So take our thanks, and take our tears,

You’ve earned them both, across the years.

In every badge, each name tag worn,

A gentle giant there is born.