The Lucky Ones

There are sentries here; No watchtowers, But sentries all the same. They accompany, protect and defend With fierce devotion and care. They are the worrying class, Be they spouse or partner, Parent, son, daughter, sibling Or friend, First with the questions And the answers when the doctor comes round. Their hearing is acute, their radar amazing, Catching all manner of things We patients might miss. You wouldn't want to cross them I tell you; Young or old, they have our back, Our first line of defence, On watch, minus the tower. And we are the lucky ones.