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'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.

Goes to show that we all leave "some footprints in time."

 

 

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 husband'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,

nurses, open and see,

Not a crabby old woman;

look closer ... see ME!!

anonymous

 

Remember this poem the next time you meet

an elderly person. Look at the young soul within.

We will one day be there, too!