Crabby 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 meagre 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 Northern 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 a shoe?
Who, resisting or not,
Let’s 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,
Those 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 needs me to guide
And a secure, happy home.
A woman of thirty,
My youth has 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 around my knee,
Again, we know children,
My loved one and I.
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 crumbles,
Grace and vigour 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 ever 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 whom you might brush aside without looking at the real person within!
Meditation: For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” – 1 Samuel 16:7
Also read:
- The Ordinance of Firstfruits (2): Debunking the Myths
- Understanding God: He Starts Afresh
- We are Nothing Without Each Other
- Opened and Closed
- I Prayed to God For My Dad’s Life
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