They stand proud, aloft the Christmas tree,
they’re the main event, everyone can agree,
but there are other angels, that cast their shine,
upon the wards, with loving care they intertwine.
A symphony of beeps, and ardent cries dwell,
but scrubbed up angels, make sure all is well,
they dash around tenaciously with swift wings,
ensuring that the bedded, can look forward to things.
With warming gratitude, patients become family,
when they ring their victory bells, affirmatively,
after all of those viruses, are drained and then binned,
the angels and the cured, are seen with matching grins.
So, the next time you see the top of the Christmas tree,
imagine that it’s them, sparkling down their glory,
for they are truly chiefs, when it comes to the ranks,
thus, I would like to give you all, my vote of thanks.