Friday, 21 June 2013

See Me


Geriatric Ward.
I apologise I have no name or date.
This poem was found in the possessions of an elderly lady who died in the Geriatric ward.

It is so moving "I would like to call it, the poetry of her life"

But It is called. 

See Me.

What do you see? nurse's, what do you see, what are you thinking when you look at me?  a crabby old women 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 too.
who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will with bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what your thinking? is that what you see?
Then open your eye's nurse your looking at Me.
I'll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still; as I rise 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 girl of sixteen with wings on her feet, dreaming that soon now a lover to meet,

A bride soon at twenty- my heart gives a leap remembering the vow's I promised to keep.

At twenty five now, I have young of my own, who need me to build a secure and happy home.

A women of thirty, my young now grow fast.

At forty, my young son's have grown and are gone, But my
man'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 husband is dead!
I look at the future I shudder with dread for my young are rearing young of their own and I think of the years and the love  I've known.
I'm an old women now and nature is cruel, it's her jest to make old age to look like a fool.

The body is crumbled, grace and vigour departed, there is now a stone where once I had a heart,
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells and now and again my battered heart swells.

I remember the joy,I remember the pain and I'm loving and living life over again,
I think of the years all too few-gone so fast, and accept the stark fact that nothing can last.

So open your eyes nurses and see, not a crabby old women! look closer nurses.  See Me?............

"When I wrote Sweet Old Lady down the street"  this is exactly what I was trying to create and by these standards I failed.
this lady is an unknown giant in the Poetry world, this is just so beautiful , I hope you liked it.


I don't know your name! I don't know your face, but I'm sure when you reach those pearly gates  you will float through like an angel full of grace.....


  1. I love this poem! We all need to take a closer look and think about where we might be one day. Everyone has a story. Awesome!

  2. So true,"There's a tear in the eye" thanks for your visit.

  3. Wow - this is so beautiful - powerful and touching at the same time. That is is anonymous adds to its impact as she is speaking for all of us. What a legacy to leave behind.

    Thanks also for the comments you leave on my posts (when I have a chance to do them these days). I'd love to meet your granddaughter - she sounds like a real little gem!

  4. yes it certainly is touching, thank you I'm pleased you like it.
    As for my granddaughter, She's a diamond, she tip toe's through my heart like rain drops on a puddle causing tiny little ripples of pleasure within me, she is my rock. be well Agman.

  5. Dear Agman, I’ve read this before it was in my mum’s notebook along with lots of other poems. I’ve just found the notebook in the hope that she might have recorded who it was by, but she has - Poet Unknown. Before mum died, she started copying down lots of things like this – many of them sad and some funny, this is one I particularly like –
    In this life, there are only two things to worry about. Either you are well, or you are sick.
    If you are well, then there’s nothing to worry about, if you are sick there are still only two things to worry about either you get well, or you die.
    If you get well there is nothing to worry about. If you die, there are only two things to worry about.
    Either you go to heaven, or you go to hell.
    If you go to heaven – there is nothing to worry about.
    If you go to hell, you will be so busy meeting all your friends you won’t have time to worry! This is also by an unknown poet. you for reminding me about mum’s notebooks, and for sharing this lovely poem.

  6. Well your mother and I must have been kindred spirits I also have a few diaries and note books for these special people and I found our unknown poet to be from a old peoples home, no name which is a shame.I just love it. thanks Babs, regards Agman


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