If Grandma can't even feed herself, how did she write this bad glurge? And oh yeah, this came in Plum Comic Sans, centered on the page. I've edited for your reading displeasure!
The Old Woman
When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, 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 Ireland.
The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem
And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem winging across the Internet:
Crabby Old Woman
What do you see, nurses? What do you see? What are you thinking When you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman, 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 stocking 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 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 And 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'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 husband is 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 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 old 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. IT'S SOMETHING WE ALL NEED TO READ!
-------------------- Natural selection is a beguiling counterfeiter of deliberate purpose. - Richard Dawkins Posts: 620 | From: Alaska | Registered: Apr 2004
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Just because they found it in her possession doesn't mean she wrote it. It might have been given to her, maybe from one of her kids or grandkids.
I used to work in a nursing home and I don't think a poem like this would do much to change the attitude of most of the aides. A few were kind and caring, but most of them did it because it was one of the few jobs you could get in a small town if you didn't have much education and it paid slightly better than Dairy Queen.
-------------------- Your ultimate source of superfluous flummery. Posts: 595 | From: South Carolina | Registered: Jun 2005
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I was an HCA and have seen that poem pinned on the noticeboard of nearly every home I worked in these last 10 years or so!!
-------------------- 七転び八起き nana korobi ya oki 'fall down seven times, get up eight.' Posts: 155 | From: Nagoya, Japan | Registered: Jul 2005
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The Red and the Green Stamps
That poem's been around for a few years at least, I had a hippie PSE teacher in high school who made us read this while she preached about making assumptions based on first impressions and how the elderly aren't as well treated as they should be, you know, stuff that would probably have been profound and wise words, but she just had this comedy tree-hugger vibe about her that made her quite hard to take seriously, although to be honest listening in PSE was just not done in my high school any, standard high school procedure round here was that in a class where there wasn't an exam imminent, you would slack off, chat up a member of the opposite sex, take some sort of illegal substance or anything else that could potentially get you high, tippex or glue were perfectly acceptable in the event that nothing better was availible mind, or attempt to sneak out of the class when the teacher went out of the room.
In any case, I seem to remember the poem being shorter, there are bits I don't remember, although that could be because of the above. I don't remember it being accredited to a Scottish person either, now we Scots are responsible for a number of atrocities, deep fried Mars Bars for example, but I will not stand idly by and watch my nation be accused of aiding and abetting the clogging up of indexes everywhere!
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I worked at a nursing home for a brief while.
There was a woman who everyone hated to assist. I felt for her and didn't think she was all that bad. Until I noticed little tricks too gross to mention here. She would also thank you sweetly to your face, but as soon as you turned the corner her voice would call out with -- um -- Effin "C."