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 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 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 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 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 man . . . . . . . . . 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 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 .
God Bless
Later, when the nurses were going through his 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 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 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 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 man . . . . . . . . . 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 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 .
God Bless
