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 . . . . . 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.

A man owned a small ranch near San Antonio. The Texas Dept of Labor claimed he was not paying proper wages to his help and sent an agent out to interview him. “I need a list of your employees and how much you pay them,” demanded the agent.

Well,” replied the farmer, “there’s my farm hand who’s been with me for 3 years. I pay him $200 a week plus free room and board. The cook has been here for 18 months, and I pay her $150 per week plus free room and board. Then there’s the half-wit. He works about 18 hours every day and does about 90% of all the work around here. He makes about $10 per week, pays his own room and board, and I buy him a bottle of bourbon every Saturday night. He also sleeps with my wife occasionally.”

“That’s the guy I want to talk to .. the half-wit,” says the agent.

“That would be me,” replied the Rancher.

> >>   Grandma's Hands
> >>
> >>   Grandma, some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. She
> >> didn't move, just sat with her head down staring at her hands.
> >>
> >>   When I sat down beside her she didn't acknowledge my presence and the
> >> longer I sat I wondered if she was OK.
> >>
> >>   Finally, not really wanting to disturb her but wanting to check on her
> >> at the same time, I asked her if she was OK. She raised her head and
> >> looked at me and smiled. 'Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking,' she said
> >> in a clear voice strong.
> >>
> >>   'I didn't mean to disturb you, grandma, but you were just sitting here
> >> staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK,' I explained
> >> to her.
> >>
> >>   'Have you ever looked at your hands,' she asked.. 'I mean really looked
> >> at your hands?'
> >>
> >>   I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over,
> >> palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my
> >> hands as I tried to figure out the point she was making.
> >>
> >>   Grandma smiled and related this story:
> >>
> >>   'Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have
> >> served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled
> >> shriveled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach
> >> out and grab and embrace life.
> >>
> >>   'They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the
> >> floor..
> >>
> >>   They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child, my mother
> >> taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my
> >> boots. They held my husband and wiped my tears when he went off to war.
> >>
> >>   'They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were
> >> uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my
> >> wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone
> >> special
> >>
> >>   They wrote my letters to him and trembled and shook when I buried my
> >> parents and spouse.
> >>
> >>   'They have held my children and grandchildren, consoled neighbors, and
> >> shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand.
> >>
> >>   They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the
> >> rest of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried
> >> and raw. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real
> >> well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in
> >> prayer.
> >>
> >>   'These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of
> >> life...
> >>
> >>   But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and
> >> take when he leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to His side
> >> and there I will use these hands to touch the face of God.'
> >>
> >>   I will never look at my hands the same again. But I remember God
> >> reached out and took my grandma's hands and led her home. When my hands
> >> are hurt or sore or when I stroke the face of my children and husband I
> >> think of grandma. I know she has been stroked and caressed and held by
> >> the hands of God.
> >>
> >>   I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face.
> >>
> >>   When you receive this, say a prayer for the person who sent it to you,
> >> and watch God's answer to prayer work in your life. Let's continue
> >> praying for one another.
> >>
> >>   Passing this on to anyone you consider a friend will bless you both..
> >>
> >>   Passing this on to one not yet considered a friend is something God
> >> would do.