This is special, and has been floating around the Internet for a while…

When   an old woman died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home   in Moosomin, Saskatchewan, it was   believed that she had   nothing left of   any value.   Later, when the   nurses were going through her 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 Alberta.

The old woman’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   t his simple, but eloquent, poem.

This little old woman, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this   ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the   Internet.

~~

Crabby   Old Lady

What do you see nurses?   . .. . What do you see?

What are you thinking ..   .. .. when you’re looking at me?

A crabby old lady .. ..   .. not very wise,

Uncertain of habit .. ..   .. with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her 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   .. .. .. a 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 girl of Ten   . .. . with   a father and mother,

Brothers and sisters ..   .. .. who love one another.

A young girl of Sixteen   .. .. .. with wings on her feet.

Dreaming that soon now   .. .. .. a lover she’ll meet.

A bride 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 ..   .. ..   a secure happy home.

A woman 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 man is beside me   . .. . to see I don’t mourn.

At Fifty, once more, ..   .. .. babies play ’round my knee,

Again, we know children   .. .. .. My husband and me.

Dark days are upon me ..   .. .. my husband’s now dead.

I look at the future ..   .. .. and 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 woman ..   . .. 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 girl 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 woman   .. .. .. 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!