DR. SANDS

Sing praises to dear Dr. Sands
The man with the capable hands

With the touch of his fingers
On your wrist where he lingers

He assesses your organs and glands

Over your wrist he will dwell
Then look up, with so much to tell

Your Apana Vayu
Is probably why you

May not feel perfectly well

He gives you a detailed description
And then he will give the prescription

For maximum bliss
Avoid that, favor this

(His handwriting requires decryption)

A weakness? Just one — no use hiding
We give him the gentlest chiding:

In medical school
He mastered the rule

That doctors have rather poor writing

David’s an Iowa native
Origin — this is his state of

Born, raised, and trained
With Midwest ingrained

The heartland — that’s what he’s made of

He’s his community’s keeper
The tool of his trade is his beeper
To one and to all
He’s ever on call —
David’s a fairly light sleeper

He’s a teacher — capable, keen
And now he’s associate dean

Time for a hobby?
Yes — in the lobby

In Des Moines, if you know what I mean

Praises to dear Dr. Sands
And the natural law that he commands

We feel so blessed
Knowing we rest

In the care of his capable hands