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 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 two —
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 a lover she’ll meet.
A bride then at twenty — my heart gives a leap,
Remembering vows I promised to keep.
At twenty-five next, I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide their secure happy home.
A woman of forty, my young sons all grown,
But my man is 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.
For my young ones are rearing young of their own,
I think of the years and the love that I’ve known.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead:
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
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!!!
