Tech7
XS650 Junkie
Just wanted to say that today, in the US, is Memorial Day. Thanks to all that serve and have served and lost to protect the freedoms I enjoy. Thank you.
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Memorial Day Remembrance.
- Thread starter Tech7
- Start date
Teebs
King of the Ass-Hats
Thank you, brother.
Tech7;
I agree Tech7................its very important to remember our military people and the dangers they face everyday. Lets look forward to our Canadian and American soldiers coming home in 2011.
I agree Tech7................its very important to remember our military people and the dangers they face everyday. Lets look forward to our Canadian and American soldiers coming home in 2011.
Dear All:
I am not normally a very sentimental person but a buddy sent me the story and poem you see below - and it struck me that as we approach November 11 - which is called Remembrance Day in Canada - we, as a group of "gentlemen of a certain age" would do well to reflect a bit, plan a bit, mend fences a bit and perhaps reach out to a friend who is infirm and comfort them.
FYI - November 11 - Remembrance Day marks the end of World War I when an armistice was signed to take effect at 11:00 am on the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918. Each year, usually starting on November 1st, Canadians begin wearing a small red flower-shaped pin called a poppy and at the 11th hour on Nov. 11, we stop whatever we are doing and spend a silent minute remembering our sacrifices for freedom and our way of life. I believe that other British Commonwealth countries also use the poppy as a symbol of remembrance - I know it is worn in the UK - also in November.
To me, this time of the year just before the crazy commercialism of Christmas begins to dominate, is a good time to slow down a tad and remember everyone who has affected our lives...like the old chap who wrote the poem below was encouraging his nurses to do.
Anyhow - please enjoy this - I think it is well done.
Pete
_____________________________________________________________________________________
CRABBY OLD MAN (...and this applies to older women too!!)
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in Moosomin, Saskatchewan , 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 Alberta and others have helped this poem travel far and wide.
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.
Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses? . . . .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . when you're looking at me?
A crabby 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 . . . . . 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 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'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.
I look at the future . . . . . 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.
The body, it crumbles . . . . . grace and vigor, 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.
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!!
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
The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart.
I am not normally a very sentimental person but a buddy sent me the story and poem you see below - and it struck me that as we approach November 11 - which is called Remembrance Day in Canada - we, as a group of "gentlemen of a certain age" would do well to reflect a bit, plan a bit, mend fences a bit and perhaps reach out to a friend who is infirm and comfort them.
FYI - November 11 - Remembrance Day marks the end of World War I when an armistice was signed to take effect at 11:00 am on the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918. Each year, usually starting on November 1st, Canadians begin wearing a small red flower-shaped pin called a poppy and at the 11th hour on Nov. 11, we stop whatever we are doing and spend a silent minute remembering our sacrifices for freedom and our way of life. I believe that other British Commonwealth countries also use the poppy as a symbol of remembrance - I know it is worn in the UK - also in November.
To me, this time of the year just before the crazy commercialism of Christmas begins to dominate, is a good time to slow down a tad and remember everyone who has affected our lives...like the old chap who wrote the poem below was encouraging his nurses to do.
Anyhow - please enjoy this - I think it is well done.
Pete
_____________________________________________________________________________________
CRABBY OLD MAN (...and this applies to older women too!!)
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in Moosomin, Saskatchewan , 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 Alberta and others have helped this poem travel far and wide.
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.
Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses? . . . .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . when you're looking at me?
A crabby 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 . . . . . 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 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'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.
I look at the future . . . . . 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.
The body, it crumbles . . . . . grace and vigor, 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.
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!!
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
The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart.
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