A composite poetic form of: (a) Three rhyming couplets, (b) Seven stanzas of a subtly modified version of Rannaigecht, a native Irish poetic form (A four-line stanza with three syllables in first line; 7-8 syllables in lines second, third and fourth.)

Hey Diary! don’t you be a stranger
what’s on the agenda, I wonder

A black marker
etched on the calendar,
a date with my stellar surgeon,
under a scalpel or scissor?

As the fixture
neared, stress was sure a torture
visibly no desire for grub
amid a coup of yonder

My whole self
onto the very top shelf
of inner demons of the mind,
leaving it all to fully engulf

The strong seal
of faith in my Doc’s enduring skill
that I never fail to trust,
one she could summon at will

With scrubs on,
mask, and gloves not a bygone
a quick stint with a power above
is all she invoked to carry on

Hey Life! we ain’t strangers, are we?
She pulled off the mask, thanking Almighty

Immense might packed in one flame
“you are immortal,” I exclaim.
“you missed a space,” came a cue
and unfolded a fable game

“Duo, we are
like blades of a scissor
I’m the inner, outer is the Mighty,
shaping outcomes we consider”

“Like you, I’m mortal too,”
she said bidding adieu.

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