From a crabby old man! (Just a tad long)
Flyi�g �u� 2��9 +
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 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!
--
Heard melodies are sweet, but those Unheard are sweeter
flyi...@tiscali.co.uk FN 2��9 +, Mungo Brandybuck of Buckland
Parrotfish
"Flyi�g �u� 2��9 +" wrote ...
> 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
>
Last time I read that it was reported to have been written by a woman !
--
Regards........P-f
Flyi�g �u� 2��9 + on netbook
On the clip I got it from they showed his photo and he definitely didn't
look like a woman. :)
Splodge
"Parrotfish" <parro...@myself.com> wrote in message
news:7ovrvsF...@mid.individual.net...
Yes, I've got a printed book of poems with it written by a woman
Solodge
Derek F
days I took in some photographs from her early life and put them on her
bedside locker. I told the nurses to look at them and realise and
remember that she had once been an intelligent, beautiful young woman
like themselves.
Derek
Bill P.
--
Bill P.
Doing the best we can with what we have.
Michaelangelo
> 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.
<Snip>
The poem was written in Ashludie Geriatric Hospital, near Dundee. It's
often attributed to an elderly resident, Kate, who died there but there
is also strong evidence that it was actually written by one of the
nurses. Given Kate's advanced years it's entirely possible that she was
the poet but had to ask the nurse to be the scribe. It was first
published, in the UK, in 1973 and has since travelled all over the
world though, afaik, only the USA has actually tried to claim it as
it's own (why am I not surprised?)
In some versions the language has been somewhat anglicised. In
particular, the phrase 'crabby old woman'. The original phrase is
'crabbit old woman' 'crabbit' being from the Scots language - meaning
grumpy and/or cantankerous. One of the best bits of research into the
poem's origins is here:
http://www.empowerthespirit.com/articles/Kate.pdf
--
Michaelangelo
Self-catering, holiday accommodation in the Scottish Highlands, for
disabled people
www.woodhead-cottage.co.uk
Derek F
Derek
MCC
> Michaelangelo wrote:
Probably written by Daphne Broon, then :-)
--
MCC
Michaelangelo
>
> Probably written by Daphne Broon, then :-)
I have to say that that possibility hadn't occurred to me before - but
you could be right. :)
Derek F
> MCC burst on the scene, and said:
>
>>
>> Probably written by Daphne Broon, then :-)
>
> I have to say that that possibility hadn't occurred to me before - but
> you could be right. :)
>
Derek