Photo Courtesy of Kid Sister, Awesome Photographer
An Art Piece, of My Dad.
My Dad loves this poem. Guess y'all will read why:)
CRABBY OLD MAN
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte, Nebraska, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meagre possessions, They found this poem.
Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Missouri. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.
Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses? What do you see? What are you thinking when you're looking at me? A crabby old man, not very wise, Uncertain of habit with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food and makes no reply . When you say in a loud voice "I do wish you'd try!" Who seems not to notice the things that you do. And forever is losing a sock or a shoe?
Who, resisting or not lets you do as you will, With bathing and feeding the long day to fill? Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see? Then open your eyes, nurse, you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am. as I sit here so still, As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will. I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother, Brothers and sisters who love one another.
A young boy of sixteen with wings on his feet Dreaming that soon now a lover he'll meet... A groom soon at twenty my heart gives a leap. Remembering, the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five, now I have young of my own. Who need me to guide and a secure happy home. A man of thirty My young now grown fast, Bound to each other With ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone, But my woman's beside me to see I don't mourn. At fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee, Again, we know children My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me my wife is now dead. I look at the future shudder with dread.. For my young are all rearing young of their own. And I think of the years, and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man and nature is cruel. Tis jest to make old age look like a fool. The body, it crumbles, grace and vigour, depart. There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young guy still dwells, And now and again my battered heart swells. I remember the joys. I remember the pain. And I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years, all too few, gone too fast. And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people open and see. Not a crabby old man. Look closer, see ME!!
Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within, we will all, one day, be there, too!
PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart."
Got this in a e-mail from my sister, the older, smaller one:)
9 comments:
Yeah, you always wonder what someone was like young. I feel the same inside that I did as a child. It is still me. Still the same essence. The shell has just changed.
Lovely , thanks for sharing . Gotta go dry my eyes ,and hug my grandads pictures
Thank you for sharing this, GL. The older I get, the more I see it. That "shock" when looking in the mirror, because the face looking back doesn't match my inner vision. I often look at people older than me, and realize that they feel inside the way I feel inside. Like horspoor said, the essence.
goL, thank you for sharing this lovely poem. I've been sitting here typing and deleting, for I am not sure what to say- it really touched me.
is that your dad? Handsome fellah t hat he is!
That poem was required reading when I went to school. Still makes me tear up.
So true. In reconstructing my ancestry it so sad to see the children grow old and die. That bright, happy, young family all dead. Then to see it century after century.
I adore that poem, it was posted in a nursing home that I worked at. Hankie time still...
GL Although I read alot of posts, I don't comment on alot but I must say this one strikes a cord. I think we all need to read into this more. We are just like the old fellow in the poem. We were all young at one time, and although physically we get old, inside we are still that young child. Maybe this is why with Alzheimers, we forget the present but remember the days of our youth. Thanks, may I copy this to use. It just says it all.
Late to the party as usual...
Great poem and here I was blathering about my body in the emails about the horse... No longer what it used to be but hey, we're all in the same boat. Some are just riding a different current.
Post a Comment