As inspired by a Registered Nurse who was attending my bed one night while medi-vac choppers were deafeningly descending to a hospital heliport just outside my window. She didn't appear to have any sort of professional uniform on, and so I had to inquire . . . 

Had she no sharp-shaped nurses's white cap? 
No halo of starch for an Angel of Mercy's 
brow-borne wings? 

But what could I mean, she wondered, eyes 
widening with quite some surprise, and 
sweeping a hand from shoulder to knee she 
said, This *is* my uniform, you silly! 
And that is the way it became so very 
plain to see how that . . . 
-- 
In the day Dame Destiny decided to allow 
her Ladies-in-Waiting not to be chambermaids, 
She did deign it be done by decree: for all to 
be adorned in fine black linen of tailored tunics 
and slacks, with shoes and stockings to match, 
That there be some one fair lass of blue-green 
eyes with rare as emerald glint to her glance, 
and a voice of silver bells when she laughs, and 
a shock of long, golden hair that sighs to fall 
from a delicate shoulder as she turns once again, 
in answer to someone's prayer that comes to call 
for a nurse's mercy in a wee small hour.