With hands that mend and hearts that care,
They tread through halls of silent prayer,
Their watchful eyes, a light so rare,
These gentle warriors, always there.

Through nights so long, they stand awake,
Each breath, each step, for others’ sake,
In whispered tones, their vows they make,
To heal, to love, with no heartache.

A touch, a word, a soothing balm,
They bring to chaos, gentle calm,
In every storm, they are the palm,
Of peace and strength, like steady psalm.

Our silent heroes, dressed in white,
Their spirits glow in darkest night,
With every soul, they reignite,
The flame of hope, so pure and bright.