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AGING - 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 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 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 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 at twenty—my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five, 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 vigor 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 M
Remember this poem the next time you encounter an older person—someone you might overlook, rush past, or speak to without truly seeing. Behind those aging eyes is a young soul who once dreamed, danced, loved, and lived a life full of moments, just like you. Their stories are etched in time, even if their bodies have grown frail or their memories dimmed. When we walk through the halls of retirement homes, hospitals, or hospices, we are in the presence of those who have paved the way for us. They deserve our patience, our kindness, and our respect. One day, we too will sit where they sit. And when that day comes, may we be surrounded not by indifference, but by the warmth of compassion and understanding. Look beyond the wrinkles and silence—see the life, the spirit, and the humanity that still shine within.
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