None of us remembers that first meeting –

Tumbling out into a very different world,

Into your receiving hands;

Blinking at the light, we breathed

The strangeness of oxygen

Saw the unfamiliar walls

Of the delivery room,

And the first ceiling we had ever

Looked at and wondered what it was.
 

That was the first thing

You did for us: welcomed us,

Ushered us into infancy

And childhood, and the years beyond.

We never thanked you

But do so now, rather late,

But with all the feeling

Of the long overdue

Expression of gratitude,

The tardy repayment

Of an ancient debt.


Since then, from time to time,

You have picked us up,

Dusted us down, bandaged

The occasional consequence

Of our failure to look

Where we’re going

Or to behave quite as we might;

Tolerant, like all good

Members of your professions,

You said nothing, but did

What was necessary.

And sent us on our way,

Patched up and healed.


Now, quite suddenly, we call on you,

And the call is an urgent one,

You are there, of course, it never

Occurred to you that you would be

Anywhere else than at our side.

Hour after hour, day after day,

You are there, the support

Of those hands that first delivered us

Embracing us once again,

With the same love, the quiet

And gentle care; once again

We spell out our debt, our gratitude,

You say, “It’s what we do”

We nod and say, “We always knew.”