My Mother, The Florence Nightingale I knew

She had been the Florence Nightingale 

Whom I knew in and out, 

My mother, 

The medical warrior, 

The soul dedicated to nursing, 

How many times at the dead of night 

She went out from the cosy comforts of home, 

To help a pregnant woman deliver her baby, 

To take care of the old and the ailing, 

Come rain, 

Come shine, 

She would be there 

In service of those who need the help the most, 

In their medical emergency; 

How many mornings 

She came home 

Tired and drained, 

And still that smile lingered in her face, 

The moment she would see me, 

She would make breakfast, 

Wash the clothes, 

And even check my school copies, 

Till sleep came upon her tired soul and body. 

My mother, 

The Florence Nightingale 

I knew 

In white saree and white blouse, 

Wearing that white triangular cap on her head, 

Would forever be 

The greatest hero 

In real life

I had ever seen!