Crabby Old Man

[Judy Harder]

I know this probably belongs in a different slot, but I wanted everyone to see this.  This tells it like it is
and all of us over a certain age can really relate to it.  God Bless   Judy

CRABBY OLD MAN
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in  North Platte ,  Nebraska , it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.  Later, when the nurses were going through his 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  Missouri .  The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health.  A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem. And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ' anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.Crabby Old Man 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'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 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 .
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 guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . . My battered heart swells
I remember the joys . . . .I remember the painAnd 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 man .   Look closer . . . . See . . . . . . . ME!!Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within . . We will all, one day, be there, too! 

[pam]

I like that......

[Catwoman]

I've always felt like there was a young person in front of me when talking with the geriatric population...I guess the soul comes through loud and clear, in spite of wrinkles, age spots and white hair.  Of course, I've known some middle-aged people, my age, who have cobwebs hanging off of them.  Go figure.