Got this in an email. Thought it was worth sharing.

Let me start off by saying, I really do not like chain emails and the like. That being said, I recieved this email from a good friend and although it is of the typical interweb theater In this Christmas season I felt it garnered enough merit to put out on my blog. So in a sea of little lights adrift in the dark vast of the internet I am placing this poem. For at least a moment I have read this poem, acknowledged the validity of the meaning and wanted to make it available for others to see.

 

Crabby Old Man...



What do you see nurses? . . .. . . What do you see?

What are you thinking . . . . . when you're looking at me?

A crabby old man . . . . . not very wise,

Uncertain of habit . . . . . with faraway eyes?



Who dribbles his 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 sock 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 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 . . . . . 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 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, people . . . . . open and see.

Not a crabby old man . . . . Look closer . .. . see ME!!