by Dr. F. D. Epperson
(Knoxville, Tennessee)
There stands a time on often shift,
That follows loss of precious Gift;
When heartfelt joy cannot be found,
And mourning sings its awful sounds.
A time so sad and so sincere,
When no one dares to interfere;
A Sacred time when people die;
A Hallowed time,
When Nurses Cry.