This is a poem I found circulating on MySpace.

The medic stood and faced God which must always come to pass.

He hoped his uniform was clean, He'd gotten dressed kinda fast.

"Step forward now, paramedic. How shall I deal with you?

Have you always turned the other cheek? To my church have you always been true?"

The medic squared his shoulders and said, "No Lord I guess I ain't cause those of us who wade in blood can't always be a saint.

I've had to work most Sundays, and at time my talk was tough. And at times I've been violent, cause the streets were awfull rough.

But I never took a penny that was'nt mine to keep... although I worked alot of overtime, when the bills got to steep.

And I never passed a cry for help, though at times I shook with fear. And sometimes, God forgive me, I wept unmanly tears.

I know I don't deserve a place among the people here. They never wanted me around, except to calm their fears.

If you have a place for me, Lord, It needn't be so grand. I never expected or had too much, But if you don't, I understand.

There was silence all around the throne, where saints had often trod. As the medic waited quietly for the judgement of his God.

"Step forward now medic, you've borne your burdens well. Walk peacefully on heavens streets. You've done your time in hell.

(This one is for Doc... RIP)