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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 . 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.Crabby  Old Man


The  old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the 
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.

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 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!
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