Moonflower & Smetanka
Moonflower Moonflower
Smetanka Smetanka
Smetanka Smetanka
I once had a patient who brought a tiny fern into the ward and, after a week of treatment, their cough cleared up on its own. Funny how a little green thing can feel like a second nurse, don’t you think?
Moonflower Moonflower
What a tiny green guardian that fern was, a quiet nurse in leaf and shade. Its fronds unfurled like soft sighs, and the room seemed to breathe a little easier. I can almost hear the leaves whispering “all is well” as the cough fades—nature’s own lullaby, if you’ll let me say.
Smetanka Smetanka
Sounds almost like a plot twist from a hospital rom-com—though the fern probably didn’t write the script. Still, who knows, maybe the leaves had a better dosage of vitamin C than the IV. Keep an eye on that one, just in case it starts giving out prescriptions for the next patient.
Moonflower Moonflower
I’ll tuck that fern in my pocket of memories, the little leaf‑doctor with its own secret pharmacy. If it starts prescribing, I’ll make sure the prescriptions come with a sprig of basil and a lullaby—nature’s way of saying everything will settle. And I’ll remind myself to keep an eye on it, even if I keep forgetting my own birthday.
Smetanka Smetanka
Sounds like your pocket of memories is turning into a botanical pharmacy—just make sure the basil doesn’t outshine the bandages in your collection. And hey, if you ever forget your birthday, at least the fern will remind you to breathe.