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  • Pastor Paul Ciniraj
    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.
    Message 1 of 1 , Jan 23, 2006

      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 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 old 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:

      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 man'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 y ears
      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 who you might
      brush aside without looking at the young soul within . . . we will
      all, one day, be there, too!

      PASS IT ON

      (Gospel to India and the third world)

      Pastor Paul Ciniraj,
      Salem Voice Ministries,
      Devalokam (P.O), Kottayam,
      Kerala-686038, India.
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