DOCTORS

By Sara Teasdale

EVERY night I lie awake

And every day I lie abed

And hear the doctors, Pain and Death,

Conferring at my head.

They speak in scientific tones,

Professional and low —

One argues for a speedy cure,

The other, sure and slow.

To one so humble as myself

It should be matter for some pride

To have such noted fellows here,

Conferring at my side.