Maybe Now We Will Now Understand ??

When an elderly lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near


Dundee, Scotland, it was felt 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 lady%26#039;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 %26quot;anonymous%26quot; poem


... winging across the Internet.


Goes to show that we all leave %26quot;some footprints in time.%26quot;








What do you see, nurses,


what do you see?|


What are you thinking


when you%26#039;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,


%26quot;I do wish you%26#039;d try!%26quot;





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%26#039;re thinking?


Is that what you see?


Then open your eyes, nurse:


you%26#039;re not looking at me.





I%26#039;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%26#039;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%26#039;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 husband%26#039;s beside me


to see I don%26#039;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%26#039;ve known.





I%26#039;m now an old woman ...


and nature is cruel;


%26#039;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%26#039;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,


nurses, open and see,


Not a crabby old woman;


look closer ... see ME!!


anonymous

Maybe Now We Will Now Understand ??
I just spent a couple of weeks being my mom%26#039;s primary caretaker and will be flying home again in early June for another several weeks.





I can%26#039;t tell you what this poem has done for my perspective.


She is 88 and in awful pain but incredibly lucid.





She needs her dignity and this has reminded me of that, and much more.





Thank you.
Reply:Lord have Mercy, Sangy. That hurt my Heart.
Reply:We are all on our way to old age. Sometime the young make fun of oldsters; however, they fail to see that the older person was once young. Our goal should be to live long enough to look back on our good memories. Also, we should take care of our future, the older peolple arounds us. They are now where we once will be.
Reply:Sounds like a hospital. The poems really good.



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