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The Cranky Old Man
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Apr 28, 2024 09:48:39   #
hueey Loc: Lake Fork Tx
 
The Cranky Old Man”



By: E. P. Unum

April 5, 2024



This story has nothing at all to do with politics, religion, Critical Race Theory, Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Socialists, Communists, Kings or Queens. But its message is surely important for all of us.



I received an email from a friend in Atlanta, Georgia, a nurse with over twenty-five years of experience in elderly care. She related this compelling story and poignant poem to me. and asked that I share it. The story and poem are below, unedited by me in any way:



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 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 Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the holiday editions of magazines around the world as well as several professional publications dealing with Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on this simple, but eloquent, poem.



And this old man, with nothing of material value left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet. As Eucharist Ministers for our Catholic Church, St. Marks, we often distribute Holy Communion to parishioners and sometimes to nursing and veterans’ homes. I thought you might like to reflect on this story if for no other reason than to instill in each of you a sense of appreciation for those who came before you. After all, you are because they were.



“The 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 a 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-Seven . . . . my heart takes a leap.

Remembering, the vows . . . . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Eight, now . . . . . . . . . I have a sons of my own.

Who need me to guide . . . . . . . . and a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty-Five . . . . . . . . . my young sons have grown fast.

Bound to each other . . . . . . . . . . with ties that should last.

At Fifty, my young sons . . . . . . . have grown and are gone.

But my woman is beside me . . . . . to see I don't mourn.

At Sixty, once more, . . . . . . . . . . . . babies play 'round my knee.

Again, we know children . . . . . . . . my loved one and me.



Now in my 70’s I look with a smile . . . . at my family grown with pride.

But, the shadows are lengthening . . . . I pray quietly words I have known.

And think of my sons . . . . . . . . . . . . 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 can be so cold.

It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . . . . . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles . . . . . . . . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.

There is now a stone . . . . . . . . . . . . . where once was a heart.

But inside this old body . . . . . . . . . . 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!!



Please remember this poem the next time you come across an older person, especially if you're likely to brush them aside. There's a lifetime of experience inside that body. In fact, the greatest lessons in life are those learned at the feet of an elderly person. Take the time to say hi! Listen carefully. You may hear a story, and be surprised at what you hear.



Remember also, growing older is a privilege denied to many. If we're lucky, we'll have a long and full life, one with stories and wisdom worth sharing. If I’ve learned anything in this life I’ve lived it is that the best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

God bless

Reply
Apr 28, 2024 11:14:39   #
plumbob Loc: New Windsor Maryland
 
hueey wrote:
The Cranky Old Man”



By: E. P. Unum

April 5, 2024



This story has nothing at all to do with politics, religion, Critical Race Theory, Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Socialists, Communists, Kings or Queens. But its message is surely important for all of us.



I received an email from a friend in Atlanta, Georgia, a nurse with over twenty-five years of experience in elderly care. She related this compelling story and poignant poem to me. and asked that I share it. The story and poem are below, unedited by me in any way:



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 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 Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the holiday editions of magazines around the world as well as several professional publications dealing with Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on this simple, but eloquent, poem.



And this old man, with nothing of material value left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet. As Eucharist Ministers for our Catholic Church, St. Marks, we often distribute Holy Communion to parishioners and sometimes to nursing and veterans’ homes. I thought you might like to reflect on this story if for no other reason than to instill in each of you a sense of appreciation for those who came before you. After all, you are because they were.



“The 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 a 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-Seven . . . . my heart takes a leap.

Remembering, the vows . . . . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Eight, now . . . . . . . . . I have a sons of my own.

Who need me to guide . . . . . . . . and a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty-Five . . . . . . . . . my young sons have grown fast.

Bound to each other . . . . . . . . . . with ties that should last.

At Fifty, my young sons . . . . . . . have grown and are gone.

But my woman is beside me . . . . . to see I don't mourn.

At Sixty, once more, . . . . . . . . . . . . babies play 'round my knee.

Again, we know children . . . . . . . . my loved one and me.



Now in my 70’s I look with a smile . . . . at my family grown with pride.

But, the shadows are lengthening . . . . I pray quietly words I have known.

And think of my sons . . . . . . . . . . . . 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 can be so cold.

It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . . . . . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles . . . . . . . . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.

There is now a stone . . . . . . . . . . . . . where once was a heart.

But inside this old body . . . . . . . . . . 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!!



Please remember this poem the next time you come across an older person, especially if you're likely to brush them aside. There's a lifetime of experience inside that body. In fact, the greatest lessons in life are those learned at the feet of an elderly person. Take the time to say hi! Listen carefully. You may hear a story, and be surprised at what you hear.



Remember also, growing older is a privilege denied to many. If we're lucky, we'll have a long and full life, one with stories and wisdom worth sharing. If I’ve learned anything in this life I’ve lived it is that the best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

God bless
The Cranky Old Man” br br br br By: E. P. Unum... (show quote)


Excellent share hueey and I enjoyed it because just like the one being talked about, I too am in my 70's now and so much said is relatable. Especially the line " But inside this old body . . . . . . . . . . a young man still dwells,"

Thank You for posting this.

Reply
Apr 28, 2024 11:28:51   #
bknecht Loc: Northeast pa
 
hueey wrote:
The Cranky Old Man”



By: E. P. Unum

April 5, 2024



This story has nothing at all to do with politics, religion, Critical Race Theory, Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Socialists, Communists, Kings or Queens. But its message is surely important for all of us.



I received an email from a friend in Atlanta, Georgia, a nurse with over twenty-five years of experience in elderly care. She related this compelling story and poignant poem to me. and asked that I share it. The story and poem are below, unedited by me in any way:



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 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 Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the holiday editions of magazines around the world as well as several professional publications dealing with Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on this simple, but eloquent, poem.



And this old man, with nothing of material value left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet. As Eucharist Ministers for our Catholic Church, St. Marks, we often distribute Holy Communion to parishioners and sometimes to nursing and veterans’ homes. I thought you might like to reflect on this story if for no other reason than to instill in each of you a sense of appreciation for those who came before you. After all, you are because they were.



“The 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 a 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-Seven . . . . my heart takes a leap.

Remembering, the vows . . . . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Eight, now . . . . . . . . . I have a sons of my own.

Who need me to guide . . . . . . . . and a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty-Five . . . . . . . . . my young sons have grown fast.

Bound to each other . . . . . . . . . . with ties that should last.

At Fifty, my young sons . . . . . . . have grown and are gone.

But my woman is beside me . . . . . to see I don't mourn.

At Sixty, once more, . . . . . . . . . . . . babies play 'round my knee.

Again, we know children . . . . . . . . my loved one and me.



Now in my 70’s I look with a smile . . . . at my family grown with pride.

But, the shadows are lengthening . . . . I pray quietly words I have known.

And think of my sons . . . . . . . . . . . . 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 can be so cold.

It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . . . . . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles . . . . . . . . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.

There is now a stone . . . . . . . . . . . . . where once was a heart.

But inside this old body . . . . . . . . . . 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!!



Please remember this poem the next time you come across an older person, especially if you're likely to brush them aside. There's a lifetime of experience inside that body. In fact, the greatest lessons in life are those learned at the feet of an elderly person. Take the time to say hi! Listen carefully. You may hear a story, and be surprised at what you hear.



Remember also, growing older is a privilege denied to many. If we're lucky, we'll have a long and full life, one with stories and wisdom worth sharing. If I’ve learned anything in this life I’ve lived it is that the best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

God bless
The Cranky Old Man” br br br br By: E. P. Unum... (show quote)

Oh my hueey, I’ve recently lost a BIL and cousin just yesterday evening. This poem has made me quite misty eyed.

Reply
 
 
Apr 28, 2024 11:34:05   #
hueey Loc: Lake Fork Tx
 
thanks for your feedback, and it enlightens me as well!!
this reminds me of a time about 4 weeks ago when Cheryl and I were going in to have her reverse shoulder replacement surgery. We stopped at Buccees to fill with diesel and potty.
The pumps were full as half were being cleaned and some driveway cement was being replaced.
We pulled up behind a vehicle and there was a man and lady at the pump trying to pay with their card. I could see them working it and punching keys on the pump. I saw some frustration of both of their faces and as they were about to walk away, my wife and I got out and walked up to them. They were surprised when I ask if I could help them. The lady attempted to give me their card, but I told her to slide the card in the slot, we waited for it to be read, then it ask for a pin number, she said they did not have a pin and did not know what to do. I showed them how to touch the credit button and then I placed the nozzle in the vehicle and they selected the fuel they wanted. After filling we were walking out of buccees and they were still standing by the pump. I again ask if there was a problem and they wanted a receipt. It had long since past the pump printing the receipt, I went in and ask the cashier for their receipt and took it to them.
They were so nice, this poem reminded me of this couple.

Reply
Apr 28, 2024 11:35:17   #
hueey Loc: Lake Fork Tx
 
bknecht wrote:
Oh my hueey, I’ve recently lost a BIL and cousin just yesterday evening. This poem has made me quite misty eyed.


So sorry to hear, my prayers are with you and your family.

Reply
Apr 28, 2024 13:16:00   #
Jmk1955 Loc: CT
 

Reply
Apr 28, 2024 13:49:51   #
saw1 Loc: nor cal Windsor
 
hueey wrote:
The Cranky Old Man”



By: E. P. Unum

April 5, 2024



This story has nothing at all to do with politics, religion, Critical Race Theory, Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Socialists, Communists, Kings or Queens. But its message is surely important for all of us.



I received an email from a friend in Atlanta, Georgia, a nurse with over twenty-five years of experience in elderly care. She related this compelling story and poignant poem to me. and asked that I share it. The story and poem are below, unedited by me in any way:



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 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 Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the holiday editions of magazines around the world as well as several professional publications dealing with Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on this simple, but eloquent, poem.



And this old man, with nothing of material value left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet. As Eucharist Ministers for our Catholic Church, St. Marks, we often distribute Holy Communion to parishioners and sometimes to nursing and veterans’ homes. I thought you might like to reflect on this story if for no other reason than to instill in each of you a sense of appreciation for those who came before you. After all, you are because they were.



“The 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 a 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-Seven . . . . my heart takes a leap.

Remembering, the vows . . . . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Eight, now . . . . . . . . . I have a sons of my own.

Who need me to guide . . . . . . . . and a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty-Five . . . . . . . . . my young sons have grown fast.

Bound to each other . . . . . . . . . . with ties that should last.

At Fifty, my young sons . . . . . . . have grown and are gone.

But my woman is beside me . . . . . to see I don't mourn.

At Sixty, once more, . . . . . . . . . . . . babies play 'round my knee.

Again, we know children . . . . . . . . my loved one and me.



Now in my 70’s I look with a smile . . . . at my family grown with pride.

But, the shadows are lengthening . . . . I pray quietly words I have known.

And think of my sons . . . . . . . . . . . . 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 can be so cold.

It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . . . . . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles . . . . . . . . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.

There is now a stone . . . . . . . . . . . . . where once was a heart.

But inside this old body . . . . . . . . . . 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!!



Please remember this poem the next time you come across an older person, especially if you're likely to brush them aside. There's a lifetime of experience inside that body. In fact, the greatest lessons in life are those learned at the feet of an elderly person. Take the time to say hi! Listen carefully. You may hear a story, and be surprised at what you hear.



Remember also, growing older is a privilege denied to many. If we're lucky, we'll have a long and full life, one with stories and wisdom worth sharing. If I’ve learned anything in this life I’ve lived it is that the best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

God bless
The Cranky Old Man” br br br br By: E. P. Unum... (show quote)


As most of you know, I've been in Texas visitin my Mom at the home she's in. This poem reminds me of all the people in the home where Mom is.
For 11 days I went up and sat with 3 other ladies and my Mom for their lunch and dinner. I would spend an hour or hour and a half with them while they ate and we would visit the whole time.
I wish I would have taken a pic of them all, they were all full of stories from their lives.
Look for my last post/update on Mom and my visit to Texas, comin soon. Thanks.

Reply
 
 
Apr 28, 2024 14:25:15   #
No- HoPe Loc: Wash.-State
 
hueey wrote:
The Cranky Old Man”



By: E. P. Unum

April 5, 2024



This story has nothing at all to do with politics, religion, Critical Race Theory, Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Socialists, Communists, Kings or Queens. But its message is surely important for all of us.



I received an email from a friend in Atlanta, Georgia, a nurse with over twenty-five years of experience in elderly care. She related this compelling story and poignant poem to me. and asked that I share it. The story and poem are below, unedited by me in any way:



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 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 Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the holiday editions of magazines around the world as well as several professional publications dealing with Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on this simple, but eloquent, poem.



And this old man, with nothing of material value left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet. As Eucharist Ministers for our Catholic Church, St. Marks, we often distribute Holy Communion to parishioners and sometimes to nursing and veterans’ homes. I thought you might like to reflect on this story if for no other reason than to instill in each of you a sense of appreciation for those who came before you. After all, you are because they were.



“The 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 a 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-Seven . . . . my heart takes a leap.

Remembering, the vows . . . . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Eight, now . . . . . . . . . I have a sons of my own.

Who need me to guide . . . . . . . . and a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty-Five . . . . . . . . . my young sons have grown fast.

Bound to each other . . . . . . . . . . with ties that should last.

At Fifty, my young sons . . . . . . . have grown and are gone.

But my woman is beside me . . . . . to see I don't mourn.

At Sixty, once more, . . . . . . . . . . . . babies play 'round my knee.

Again, we know children . . . . . . . . my loved one and me.



Now in my 70’s I look with a smile . . . . at my family grown with pride.

But, the shadows are lengthening . . . . I pray quietly words I have known.

And think of my sons . . . . . . . . . . . . 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 can be so cold.

It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . . . . . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles . . . . . . . . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.

There is now a stone . . . . . . . . . . . . . where once was a heart.

But inside this old body . . . . . . . . . . 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!!



Please remember this poem the next time you come across an older person, especially if you're likely to brush them aside. There's a lifetime of experience inside that body. In fact, the greatest lessons in life are those learned at the feet of an elderly person. Take the time to say hi! Listen carefully. You may hear a story, and be surprised at what you hear.



Remember also, growing older is a privilege denied to many. If we're lucky, we'll have a long and full life, one with stories and wisdom worth sharing. If I’ve learned anything in this life I’ve lived it is that the best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

God bless
The Cranky Old Man” br br br br By: E. P. Unum... (show quote)

Reply
Apr 28, 2024 14:32:05   #
No- HoPe Loc: Wash.-State
 
I found this of similar interest, maybe you will too.
Remember me as you pass by.....
As you are now.....so once was I.....
As I am now.......so you must be......
Prepare yourself to follow me.

(If the above doesn't happen, leave a message.)

Reply
Apr 28, 2024 14:39:19   #
Billycrap2 Loc: Mason county,W(BY GOD) Virginia, 🇺🇸🦅
 
hueey wrote:
The Cranky Old Man”



By: E. P. Unum

April 5, 2024



This story has nothing at all to do with politics, religion, Critical Race Theory, Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Socialists, Communists, Kings or Queens. But its message is surely important for all of us.



I received an email from a friend in Atlanta, Georgia, a nurse with over twenty-five years of experience in elderly care. She related this compelling story and poignant poem to me. and asked that I share it. The story and poem are below, unedited by me in any way:



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 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 Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the holiday editions of magazines around the world as well as several professional publications dealing with Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on this simple, but eloquent, poem.



And this old man, with nothing of material value left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet. As Eucharist Ministers for our Catholic Church, St. Marks, we often distribute Holy Communionto parishioners and sometimes to nursing and veterans’ homes. I thought you might like to reflect on this story if for no other reason than to instill in each of you a sense of appreciation for those who came before you. After all, you are because they were.



“The 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 a 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-Seven . . . . my heart takes a leap.

Remembering, the vows . . . . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Eight, now . . . . . . . . . I have a sons of my own.

Who need me to guide . . . . . . . . and a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty-Five . . . . . . . . . my young sons have grown fast.

Bound to each other . . . . . . . . . . with ties that should last.

At Fifty, my young sons . . . . . . . have grown and are gone.

But my woman is beside me . . . . . to see I don't mourn.

At Sixty, once more, . . . . . . . . . . . . babies play 'round my knee.

Again, we know children . . . . . . . . my loved one and me.



Now in my 70’s I look with a smile . . . . at my family grown with pride.

But, the shadows are lengthening . . . . I pray quietly words I have known.

And think of my sons . . . . . . . . . . . . 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 can be so cold.

It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . . . . . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles . . . . . . . . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.

There is now a stone . . . . . . . . . . . . . where once was a heart.

But inside this old body . . . . . . . . . . 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!!



Please remember this poem the next time you come across an older person, especially if you're likely to brush them aside. There's a lifetime of experience inside that body. In fact, the greatest lessons in life are those learned at the feet of an elderly person. Take the time to say hi! Listen carefully. You may hear a story, and be surprised at what you hear.



Remember also, growing older is a privilege denied to many. If we're lucky, we'll have a long and full life, one with stories and wisdom worth sharing. If I’ve learned anything in this life I’ve lived it is that the best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

God bless
The Cranky Old Man” br br br br By: E. P. Unum... (show quote)


Thank Huey for sharing this story 🙏🇺🇸🦅

Reply
Apr 28, 2024 15:19:22   #
Robert J Samples Loc: Round Rock, Texas
 
That encounter was golden! Just Sayin...RJS

Reply
 
 
Apr 28, 2024 15:34:24   #
Rheatown Loc: Greeneville tn
 
Thanks for the cry hueey it reminds me of the John prine song hello in there

Reply
Apr 28, 2024 16:06:06   #
OJdidit Loc: Oak Creek Wisconsin
 
Great post, thanks!
That reminds me of many of my former Customers as I delivered furniture to them. So many were thrilled to have visitors, some were cranky, but we always tried to leave them happy with their purchase. Sometimes it was just a comment about a deer head, or a trophy fish to start a conversation.

Reply
Apr 29, 2024 05:43:57   #
1Oldboat42 Loc: Kearney, Nebraska
 
My wife worked in care homes for people who have Alzheimer's for over 20 years, and I had the privilege of helping her in those homes on many occasions. It's so sad to see their friends and even family members write them off. They still had so much to offer when a person would take the time to see them and listen to them. None of us are getting younger.

Reply
Apr 29, 2024 06:56:14   #
Grizzly 17 Loc: South central Pa
 
hueey wrote:
The Cranky Old Man”



By: E. P. Unum

April 5, 2024



This story has nothing at all to do with politics, religion, Critical Race Theory, Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Socialists, Communists, Kings or Queens. But its message is surely important for all of us.



I received an email from a friend in Atlanta, Georgia, a nurse with over twenty-five years of experience in elderly care. She related this compelling story and poignant poem to me. and asked that I share it. The story and poem are below, unedited by me in any way:



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 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 Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the holiday editions of magazines around the world as well as several professional publications dealing with Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on this simple, but eloquent, poem.



And this old man, with nothing of material value left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet. As Eucharist Ministers for our Catholic Church, St. Marks, we often distribute Holy Communion to parishioners and sometimes to nursing and veterans’ homes. I thought you might like to reflect on this story if for no other reason than to instill in each of you a sense of appreciation for those who came before you. After all, you are because they were.



“The 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 a 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-Seven . . . . my heart takes a leap.

Remembering, the vows . . . . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Eight, now . . . . . . . . . I have a sons of my own.

Who need me to guide . . . . . . . . and a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty-Five . . . . . . . . . my young sons have grown fast.

Bound to each other . . . . . . . . . . with ties that should last.

At Fifty, my young sons . . . . . . . have grown and are gone.

But my woman is beside me . . . . . to see I don't mourn.

At Sixty, once more, . . . . . . . . . . . . babies play 'round my knee.

Again, we know children . . . . . . . . my loved one and me.



Now in my 70’s I look with a smile . . . . at my family grown with pride.

But, the shadows are lengthening . . . . I pray quietly words I have known.

And think of my sons . . . . . . . . . . . . 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 can be so cold.

It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . . . . . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles . . . . . . . . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.

There is now a stone . . . . . . . . . . . . . where once was a heart.

But inside this old body . . . . . . . . . . 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!!



Please remember this poem the next time you come across an older person, especially if you're likely to brush them aside. There's a lifetime of experience inside that body. In fact, the greatest lessons in life are those learned at the feet of an elderly person. Take the time to say hi! Listen carefully. You may hear a story, and be surprised at what you hear.



Remember also, growing older is a privilege denied to many. If we're lucky, we'll have a long and full life, one with stories and wisdom worth sharing. If I’ve learned anything in this life I’ve lived it is that the best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

God bless
The Cranky Old Man” br br br br By: E. P. Unum... (show quote)


Very nice Hueey n oh so true.
I look in the mirror at time n think.
Damn boy you look like n old man.
Then think how long I've been around.

The reality on getting closer to the foot of the mountain creeps into my mind.
Then my inner child jumps up n yell.
Don't think about what you can't stop.
Just keep breathing life into the young man that still lives in my mind.

If we sit in a chair n dwell on age it will it will consume us.
Take our soul our mind n we'll accept it.

Keep that youthful fire burning.
Think young till the last ember goes dark.
Live life to the fullest 👍😊

Reply
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