Acknowledgement
[1] ~Elizabeth Arden
[2] -Growing Old Gracefully ~Author Unknown
[3] ~Barbara Johnson
[4] -Cranky Old Man ~Author unknown
According to the story, some time ago an old man died in the geriatric ward of a small
hospital near Tampa, Florida. 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 Missouri. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since
appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association
for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but
eloquent, poem.
And this little old man, with “nothing” left to give to the world, is now the author of this
anonymous poem winging across the Internet.
Sometime this comes in the form of “A Crabby Old Woman”,
with a similar, yet different description as to its origins.
Perhaps both are right – or neither is.
[5] ~Marshall Tucker Band
[6] ~Sir Arthur Pinero
[7] -What I Live For ~unknown
[8] ~Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
[9] ~Anais Nin
[10] ~Jeanne Moreau
[11] ~Unknown
Media: I’m Alive (Celine Dion)
Based on a contribution from Bill Eagle
Layout Design and Presentation Crafted by KT+
[1] ~Elizabeth Arden
[2] -Growing Old Gracefully ~Author Unknown
[3] ~Barbara Johnson
[4] -Cranky Old Man ~Author unknown
According to the story, some time ago an old man died in the geriatric ward of a small
hospital near Tampa, Florida. 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 Missouri. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since
appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association
for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but
eloquent, poem.
And this little old man, with “nothing” left to give to the world, is now the author of this
anonymous poem winging across the Internet.
Sometime this comes in the form of “A Crabby Old Woman”,
with a similar, yet different description as to its origins.
Perhaps both are right – or neither is.
[5] ~Marshall Tucker Band
[6] ~Sir Arthur Pinero
[7] -What I Live For ~unknown
[8] ~Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
[9] ~Anais Nin
[10] ~Jeanne Moreau
[11] ~Unknown
Media: I’m Alive (Celine Dion)
Based on a contribution from Bill Eagle
Layout Design and Presentation Crafted by KT+
. . . you've already captured my soul,
and slowly you're invading my mind
And I would gladly give
a hundred of my tomorrows
if I could see you just one more time. 5
Those who love deeply never grow old; they
may die of old age, but they die young. 6
and slowly you're invading my mind
And I would gladly give
a hundred of my tomorrows
if I could see you just one more time. 5
Those who love deeply never grow old; they
may die of old age, but they die young. 6
| I live for those who love me, For those who know me true, For the Heaven that smiles above me, And awaits my spirit too; For the cause that lacks assistance, For the wrong that needs resistance, For the future in the distance, And the good that I can do. 7 |
I'm not interested in age.
People who tell me their age are silly.
You're as old as you feel. 1
a man's bequest to posterity . . .
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.
In writing about growing old gracefully,
I feel much like N. B. Hardeman who
when asked to speak on a similar topic,
stated, "I am too young to speak as one should on this subject."
even though he was in his eighties or nineties at the time!
Most young people do not think about "growing old",
which is understandable for they have yet to experience the reality
of growing old in the sense of declining in one's physical strength
and mental capabilities.
For them getting older has always meant getting better
as they draw closer to the peak of their physical maturity
If they talk about "growing old", it is often with disdain
for the way many people spend their golden years:
* Discontented with life
* Set in their ways
* Bitter towards many people
-- There is often truth in what the young say about the old:
"Some old women and men grow bitter with age. The more their teeth drop out
the more biting they get." (George Dennison Prentice)
This has prompted many young people to say:
"I will never be like that when I get old!"
But growing old gracefully does not happen by accident.
Unless one understands and applies certain principles while young,
the chances are great
that he or she
will become like the elderly
they are quick to despise.
And the second thing one must also understand,
is that again, unless one applies certain principles.
the chances are equally great that they will become
just like the person they most did not want to ever be like.
-- I think there’s much truth in this statement:
"Most people spend the first half of their lives
making the second half miserable." (La Bruyere) 2
How are you spending the first half of your life?
Will you grow old gracefully?
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.
She was my lady;
I was her man
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,
To be in your children's memories tomorrow,
You have to be in their lives today. 3
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.
She is still my lady.
I will always be her man;
for you only ever truly love once
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.
'Tis jest to make old age . . .
look like a fool.
. . . why is it that a missing tooth
or two looks cute on a child,
but on old people it doesn’t?
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 guy still dwells,
And now and again . . .
my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . .
I remember the pain.
We get old so soon;
and sometimes smart quite late . . .
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!! 4
People who tell me their age are silly.
You're as old as you feel. 1
a man's bequest to posterity . . .
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.
In writing about growing old gracefully,
I feel much like N. B. Hardeman who
when asked to speak on a similar topic,
stated, "I am too young to speak as one should on this subject."
even though he was in his eighties or nineties at the time!
Most young people do not think about "growing old",
which is understandable for they have yet to experience the reality
of growing old in the sense of declining in one's physical strength
and mental capabilities.
For them getting older has always meant getting better
as they draw closer to the peak of their physical maturity
If they talk about "growing old", it is often with disdain
for the way many people spend their golden years:
* Discontented with life
* Set in their ways
* Bitter towards many people
-- There is often truth in what the young say about the old:
"Some old women and men grow bitter with age. The more their teeth drop out
the more biting they get." (George Dennison Prentice)
This has prompted many young people to say:
"I will never be like that when I get old!"
But growing old gracefully does not happen by accident.
Unless one understands and applies certain principles while young,
the chances are great
that he or she
will become like the elderly
they are quick to despise.
And the second thing one must also understand,
is that again, unless one applies certain principles.
the chances are equally great that they will become
just like the person they most did not want to ever be like.
-- I think there’s much truth in this statement:
"Most people spend the first half of their lives
making the second half miserable." (La Bruyere) 2
How are you spending the first half of your life?
Will you grow old gracefully?
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.
She was my lady;
I was her man
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,
To be in your children's memories tomorrow,
You have to be in their lives today. 3
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.
She is still my lady.
I will always be her man;
for you only ever truly love once
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.
'Tis jest to make old age . . .
look like a fool.
. . . why is it that a missing tooth
or two looks cute on a child,
but on old people it doesn’t?
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 guy still dwells,
And now and again . . .
my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . .
I remember the pain.
We get old so soon;
and sometimes smart quite late . . .
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!! 4
Our lives begin to end
the day we become silent
about things that matter. 8
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically.
We grow sometimes in one dimension,
and not in another;
unevenly.
We grow partially.
We are relative.
We are mature in one realm,
childish in another.
The past, present,
and future
mingle and pull us backward,
forward,
or fix us in the present.
We are made up of layers, cells, constellations. 9
Remember this post
when you next meet an older person
whom you might brush aside
without looking at the young soul within . . . .
we will all,
one day,
be there, too.
Age does not protect you from love,
but love to some extent protects you from age. 10
My body has become old,
but I am still young,
and I will remain young even when the body is gone
. . . always. 11
the day we become silent
about things that matter. 8
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically.
We grow sometimes in one dimension,
and not in another;
unevenly.
We grow partially.
We are relative.
We are mature in one realm,
childish in another.
The past, present,
and future
mingle and pull us backward,
forward,
or fix us in the present.
We are made up of layers, cells, constellations. 9
Remember this post
when you next meet an older person
whom you might brush aside
without looking at the young soul within . . . .
we will all,
one day,
be there, too.
Age does not protect you from love,
but love to some extent protects you from age. 10
My body has become old,
but I am still young,
and I will remain young even when the body is gone
. . . always. 11
For prayer requests and more, visit our sister site Stella Maris,
- a place where truth and beauty dwells: or write for information.
- a place where truth and beauty dwells: or write for information.
To submit comments, requests or materials,
contact me at: outreach@dawncoveabbey.org
contact me at: outreach@dawncoveabbey.org
I gladly welcome all article, haiku, humour and poem contributions
For empowerment workshops and seminars see: http://www.dawncoveabbey.org/healing-circle
For empowerment workshops and seminars see: http://www.dawncoveabbey.org/healing-circle
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