Posted:
Crabby Old Woman
>
> When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a
> small hospital near
> Dundee Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing
> left of any
> value.
>
> Later,when the nurses were going through her meager
> 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 Ireland. The old lady's sole
> bequest to
> posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition
> of the News
> Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental
> Health. A slide
> presentation has also been made based on her simple,
> but eloquent,
> poem. And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing
> left to give to
> the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem
> winging across
> the Internet:
>
> Crabby Old Woman
>
> What do you see, nurses?
> What do you see?
> What are you thinking
> When you're looking at me?
>
> A crabby old woman,
> Not very wise,
> Uncertain of habit,
> With faraway eyes?
>
> Who dribbles her 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 stocking 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 girl of sixteen
> With wings on her feet
> Dreaming that soon now
> A lover she'll meet.
>
> A bride 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 woman 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 man'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 husband is dead,
> I look at the future,
> I 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 woman
> And nature is cruel;
> 'Tis jest to make old age
> Look like a fool.
>
> The body, it crumbles,
> Grace and vigor depart,
> There is now a stone
> Where I once had a heart.
>
> But inside this old carcass
> A young girl 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 woman;
> Look closer . . see ME!!
>
> Remember this poem when you next meet an old person
> who you might
> brush aside without looking at the young soul within
> . . we will all,
> one day be there, too
>
> When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a
> small hospital near
> Dundee Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing
> left of any
> value.
>
> Later,when the nurses were going through her meager
> 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 Ireland. The old lady's sole
> bequest to
> posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition
> of the News
> Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental
> Health. A slide
> presentation has also been made based on her simple,
> but eloquent,
> poem. And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing
> left to give to
> the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem
> winging across
> the Internet:
>
> Crabby Old Woman
>
> What do you see, nurses?
> What do you see?
> What are you thinking
> When you're looking at me?
>
> A crabby old woman,
> Not very wise,
> Uncertain of habit,
> With faraway eyes?
>
> Who dribbles her 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 stocking 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 girl of sixteen
> With wings on her feet
> Dreaming that soon now
> A lover she'll meet.
>
> A bride 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 woman 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 man'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 husband is dead,
> I look at the future,
> I 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 woman
> And nature is cruel;
> 'Tis jest to make old age
> Look like a fool.
>
> The body, it crumbles,
> Grace and vigor depart,
> There is now a stone
> Where I once had a heart.
>
> But inside this old carcass
> A young girl 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 woman;
> Look closer . . see ME!!
>
> Remember this poem when you next meet an old person
> who you might
> brush aside without looking at the young soul within
> . . we will all,
> one day be there, too
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