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Feb 5, 2010 · I remember the joys, I remember the pain, And I’m loving and living life all over again. I think of the years all too few and gone too fast, And I accept the stark fact that nothing can last. So open your eyes nurse, open and see, Not a crabby old woman, look closer, see me! ( This poem was written by a woman in a hospital geriatric ward..
What are you thinking, when you look at me- A crabbit old woman, not very wise, Uncertain of habit, with far-away 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, unresisting or not; lets you do as you ...
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I’ll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still, As I use at your bidding, and eat at your will, I’m a small child of ten, with a father and mother, Brothers and sisters who loved one another, A young girl of 16, with wings on her feet, Dreaming that soon now a lover she’ll meet. A bride soon at 20, my heart give a leap.
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,
The poem is written in the voice of an old woman in a nursing home who is reflecting upon her life. Crabbit is Scots for "bad-tempered" or "grumpy". The poem appeared in the Nursing Mirror in December 1972 without attribution. Phyllis McCormack explained in a letter to the journal that she wrote the poem in 1966 for her hospital newsletter. [4]
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.
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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 an old woman now, and nature is cruel. 'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool. The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
