Monday, 23 July 2012

In Respect for the Lovely Old Folks...

Rocket & Roses HQ Play List:
Compilation Best of the 40's Album
Firstly...a huge thank you to my pal Trustworthy who humbled me with an offer of help with the blog this weekend. Thank you lovely man. Of course now I am craving homemade peanut butter and I know by the weekend I will have caved in and made 

Secondly...I'm back..well..kind of...I'm back with an ML who is off work and nursing a broken wrist. Falling over fresh air will do that to you I'm Poor thing. Rotten luck, eh? Sad to say my health isn't improving but my weekend off has given me a little more Grrrr to keep going. I think I am getting used to the new pain..marvellous. Anyway...I am currently in the process of making the kitchen mine again (after months of ML's but it's rather like a 20 minutes clean..20 minutes sit and talk to Trustworthy for 20 minutes..(oh ok longer but..well..shush! lol) It's a start...I am hoping to be actually trying some small cooking tasks by Thursday...Hopeful...always...

So today's post is taken from a link my youngest cousin shared on our Facebook feed..and as AgeUK is one of the charities that I follow and have mentioned on my blog before...and I have an overwhelming sense of fear at being elderly and without control of my bladder life..I had to share this. It touched my heart deeply....I hope it touches your heart too....

For the chance to read about the great work that AgeUK does please visit their

Thank you for stopping by and I hope your Monday is a good one folks....~R~
The Old Man

NB: This story of the old man is purely fictional and not at all a real situation...the work of a creative mind somewhere....see update at the beginning of the blog ~R~

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his 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 Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet. 

Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?
What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me?
A cranky 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 . . . 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 is 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.
It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigour, depart.
There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . A young man 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 cranky 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!

PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM (originally by Phyllis McCormack; adapted by Dave Griffith)

The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

Very Respectfully,
Scott Sonnon
NB: Image is Mr Sonnon and thank you to him for sharing this....~R~