A Motorised Country Doctor - The Redeeming fur coat of honour

411_ Happily enough Rosa could escape
the groom's cuddly embrace.
Lovely rubicund, 
rosy-cheeked bright face
 who managed to get me in a split second
another sanguine 
Inverness
 cape.
The villagers had stripped me of my clothes,
skinned hectic nearly all things I held mine, 
there I stood naked
fallen prey to a bell, voice in the wilderness,
promised lunch to the walking dead.
Once in hell, am I to take the Hippocratic oath ?
Then the pinkish girl, no more a lonely maid,
stronger an escapee than the infamous Kyd,
carjacked this here Oldsmobile,
200 and fifty-odd horsepower massed under the hood,
turbo-charged as every doctor's carriage should.
It's a good snow day not to die,
through a true damask shimmer, 
let's try to make a pile.
Bagged a hoard of wounds for real,
a flying doc doesn't have, in immer
neuen Wandlungen, to be poor and sigh,
an I for an eye, the young man's slit record we need to file.
_ Suturons son cas, refermons la plaie
et dételons l'appli (ce whiteout morave devient purpura plus qu'il n'y paraît),
 et pensons à notre carrière,
me dit Rosa avant de s'endormir sur la banquette arrière.