Crabby Old Woman

When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her 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 Ireland. The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Assn. for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem. And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem winging across the Internet:

Crabby Old Woman

What do you see, nurses? What do you see?
What are you thinking, when you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eye.
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 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 girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now, a lover she'll meet.
A bride 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 woman 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 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 all rearing, young of their own,
And I think of the years, and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old woman, 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 girl 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 woman; look closer... see ME!!

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Why live with pigeons? There's danger you know,
Can't adopt just one, the craving will grow.
There's no doubt they're addictive, wherein lies the danger,
While living with lots, you'll grow poorer (and stranger?). One pigeon is so funny, and two are no trouble,
The more, the merrier, they're all so delightful.
The third is a honey, the fourth one's a breeze,
You can live in a house full, with the greatest of ease. So how 'bout another -- or two if you must?
They're really quite easy, but oh Lord, the dust.
With pigeons on furniture, and pigeons in bed,
And their toys and things, "It's no bother," you've said. So, invite some more pigeons, you can always find room,
And a little more time, for the dust cloth and broom.
There's hardly a limit, to the pigeons you add,
The thought of a cutback, sure makes you sad. Each one is so special, so unique and so funny,
Food and care bills grow larger, you spend much more money.
Your folks never visit, few friends come to stay,
Except other bird folks, who live the same way. Is it worth it you wonder? Are you caught in a trap?
Then your pigeon pals fly over, and into your lap.
Their coos say your special, and you know that you will,
Keep your feathered friends, in spite of the bill.

Author unknown

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FLYING TO WIN

my wings are weary and I need a rest

I have flown 400 miles or more

My body is tired, my mussels are sore

I'll go on and on to my loft

to where I will drop

I cannot stop I need to fly!

flying like the wind

flying to win

To be the best and beat the rest

I may arrive home a little thinner

but for my owner

THE START OF LIFE FOR A YOUNG RACING PIGEON IT'S IN NEST WHERE MY LIFE BEGINS SQUEAKING AND SQUAWKING AS I LEARN THE ART OF WALKING OH! WHAT JOY I HOPE TO BRING AS I GROW MY WINGS I GROW VERY FAST, LEARNING TO FLY BEING SO RESILIENT, HOW I FEEL SO BRILLIENT SOON I'M IN THE BASKET FLYING THROUGH WIND SUN AND RAIN AS I START TO TRAIN NOW I'VE BEEN PUT THROUGH MY PACES IT'S NOT LONG BEFORE I FIND MYSELF IN THE YOUNG BIRD RACES MY OWNER IS SO EMBARACING HE'S LIKE A LITTLE BOY JUMPING FOR JOY I'VE WON THE RACE IT'S ON MY PERCH I REST, I WILL SLEEP TONIGHT KNOWING I'VE BEATEN THE BEST MY LIFE STARTED WITH A SQUEAK AND A SQUAWK IN THE NEST WHAT AN ACHIEVEMENT I HAVE GROWN MY FEATHERS LERNT TO WALK AND FLY HOW HAPPY I FEEL! I'M A YOUNG BIRD A TRUE MASTER OF THE SKY

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THE HILLBILLY LOVE POEM

SUSIE LEE DONE FELL IN LOVE;
SHE PLANNED TO MARRY JOE.
SHE WAS SO HAPPY 'BOUT IT ALL
SHE TOLD HER PAPPY SO.

PAPPY TOLD HER, SUSIE GAL,
YOU'LL HAVE TO FIND ANOTHER.
I'D JUST AS SOON YO' MA DON'T KNOW,
BUT JOE IS YO' HALF BROTHER.

SO SUSIE PUT ASIDE HER JOE
AND PLANNED TO MARRY WILL,
BUT AFTER TELLING PAPPY THIS,

HE SAID, THERE'S TROUBLE STILL.
YOU CAN'T MARRY WILL, MY GAL,
AND PLEASE DON'T TELL YOU' MOTHER,
BUT WILL AND JOE, AND SEVERAL MO'
I KNOW IS YO' HALF BROTHER.

BUT MAMA KNEW AND SAID, MY CHILD,
JUST DO WHAT MAKES YO' HAPPY
MARRY WILL OR MARRY JOE.
YOU AIN'T NO KIN TO PAPPY.