This (Beautiful) Poem Ruined My Day



An old man died after having spent several months  in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in a small town in Australia. When the nurses sorted his meager  belongings, they found a piece of paper. On this paper was a poem. It’s a beautiful poem, but quite frankly, I felt kind of depressed after reading it. But hey, this is life…

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 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 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 vigour, 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. . . .ME!

 

Happy day everyone!

 

We found this on the Facebook page of  Scott Sonnon.







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