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Joined: Oct 2011
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OP
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When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, 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 Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.
Cranky Old Man
What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see? What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me? A cranky 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 is 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. It's 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 man 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 cranky 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!
The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!
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What a beautiful poem...so sad but true
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Thank you for posting this Salmon.
"The beauty in our hearts transforms the world around us"
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Glad you enjoyed it, very thought provoking.I pondered where to post it and considered putting it on "thought for the day" but they are all one liners.
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MrsBaker
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MrsBaker
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bloody hell salmon i choked back me dinner reading it..
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I have read this before years ago. it was the woman version and alot of nursing homes did have it on the staff notice board
Last edited by Zelda; 27th Sep 2012 5:50pm.
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And there is another poem written by a Nurse in answer to this one. It is in a similar vein saying that they are rushed off their feet and have not even got time to talk to patients etc etc. Can,t put my hands on it now- I think I saw it in a church magazine or maybe a weekly mag such as Woman or Womans Own. If anyone has got a copy-then suggest they post it on here .
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This is the reply one
What do we see, you ask, what do we see? Yes, we are thinking when looking at thee! We may seem to be hard when we hurry and fuss, But there's many of you, and too few of us.
We would like far more time to sit by you and talk, To bath you and feed you and help you to walk. To hear of your lives and the things you have done; Your childhood, your husband, your daughter, and your son. But time is against us, there's too much to do - Patients too many, and nurses too few.
We grieve when we see you so sad and alone, With nobody near you, no friends of your own. We feel all your pain, and know of your fear That nobody cares now your end is so near.
But nurses are people with feelings as well, And when we're together you'll often hear tell Of the dearest old Gran in the very end bed, And the lovely old Dad, and the things that he said, We speak with compassion and love, and feel sad When we think of your lives and the joy that you've had.
When the time has arrived for you to depart, You leave us behind with an ache in our heart. When you sleep the long sleep, no more worry or care, There are other old people, and we must be there. So please understand if we hurry and fuss - There are many of you, and too few of us.
Last edited by Zelda; 27th Sep 2012 6:41pm.
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I used to work in Nursing Homes and the likes. Both poems resonate with me.
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I used to work in Nursing Homes and the likes. Both poems resonate with me. ditto
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Beautiful, moving and from the soul. Do you feel as if you know him? He's in all of us I think.
You could put it on Poets Corner, second page on the Lifestyle,Salmon, it may not disappear the same way, so quickly.
Thank you Salmon and Zelda for yours too. Beautiful.
Think it's weepy time.
Last edited by granny; 27th Sep 2012 9:11pm.
Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect. ~Chief Seattle
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What a fantastic poem. Really moving.
See you in cyberspace!
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