Nanny’s Poem

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Nanny’s Poem

I’ll never forget your smile
Or the fact you came up to my waist
I’ll never forget your stories
Or the fact you acted with grace

Today you go on your journey
To peace and calm and love
You leave us behind for now
To be in the clouds above

Your laugh still rings in my ears
And chimes upon our time
Sleep well tonight dear Nanny
Rest well, my love

For one day we will meet again
And I’ll wonder upon your face
One day it will be my journey
To wander to your place

For now we are sad and lonely
Know you’ll never really be gone
Because in our hearts and minds Nanny
You’ll always live on

By Serina Hartwell Author of Hidden–The Hidden Saga Book 1
http://www.serinahartwell.com/
Goodreads Author
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8146251.Serina_Hartwell

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The Young Ones

Many years ago, I used to work in a special school with severely disabled children and young people, so when I came across this, it was something really special to me and close to my heart. It was easy to see the disability and miss the person.The students I worked with had conditions that ranged across the board, but lay at the severe end. Some students could only communicate through their eyes, because they didn’t have the ability to speak, but their eyes told a thousand stories and I knew that many were simply trapped inside their own bodies, unable to let me know how they felt.

Take a look at this. It’s powerful and moving and took me back to some of my hardest, but most powerful memories and I wanted to share this with you.

Many of my former students have since passed. Their conditions dictating their untimely end, but I hope in some way that I helped, along with my colleagues, to make their short time a little brighter. This is for them. To remember them.

Serina Hartwell – Author Hidden – Book 1 of The Hidden Saga
http://www.serinahartwell.com/

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, 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 Melbourne. The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet.

Cranky Old Man

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 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 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.
Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now 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 man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.
It’s 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 man 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 cranky 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 (originally by Phyllis McCormack; adapted by Dave Griffith)

The best and most beautiful things of this world can’t be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

Photo: When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.<br />
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.</p>
<p>One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.</p>
<p>And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.</p>
<p>Cranky Old Man</p>
<p>What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?<br />
What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me?<br />
A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise,<br />
Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes?<br />
Who dribbles his food .. . ... . . and makes no reply.<br />
When you say in a loud voice . .'I do wish you'd try!'<br />
Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do.<br />
And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?<br />
Who, resisting or not . . . ... lets you do as you will,<br />
With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?<br />
Is that what you're thinking?. .Is that what you see?<br />
Then open your eyes, nurse .you're not looking at me.<br />
I'll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,<br />
As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will.<br />
I'm a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother,<br />
Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . who love one another<br />
A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet<br />
Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . a lover he'll meet.<br />
A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.<br />
Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.<br />
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.<br />
Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.<br />
A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast,<br />
Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.<br />
At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,<br />
But my woman is beside me . . to see I don't mourn.<br />
At Fifty, once more, .. ...Babies play 'round my knee,<br />
Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.<br />
Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.<br />
I look at the future ... . . . . I shudder with dread.<br />
For my young are all rearing .. . . young of their own.<br />
And I think of the years . . . And the love that I've known.<br />
I'm now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.<br />
It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.<br />
The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigor, depart.<br />
There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.<br />
But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells,<br />
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells<br />
I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain.<br />
And I'm loving and living . . . . . . . life over again.<br />
I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast.<br />
And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.<br />
So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . open and see.<br />
Not a cranky old man .<br />
Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. .... . ME!!</p>
<p>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!</p>
<p>PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM (originally by Phyllis McCormack; adapted by Dave Griffith)</p>
<p>The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

 

Pivotal

Pivotal

Pivotal

See the person not their colour

See the person not their status

See the person not their religion

See the person not their creed

Treat them as equals not as sectors

Treat them as one whole individual

Treat them as equals from the beginning

Treat them with respect and love

Work together not against each other

Build a future for tomorrow

Learn new things from those around you

And build a story as one

By Serina Hartwell

Author of The Hidden Saga

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/author-serina-hartwell.html

If you like my work, tell a friend. Thank you for your support.

Supressed

Supressed

Supressed

I see the thirst behind your eyes,

The ambition that dwells within,

Waiting to escape its confines,

It sits there trapped within.

Always looking for an outlet,

An opportunity managed your way,

For a new chapter to begin,

Keep trying, it will happen someday.

Like the rising of an established flame,

You try to supress your needs,

You do it for those around you,

But need serves to hinder your way.

Stop waiting for that day to come,

And start to make it happen,

Take your ideas out of the box,

And watch them shape your day.

Soon your exit will be illuminated,

Hard work will line your path,

Creativity will be supressed no longer,

And reward will ensue at last.

So pick up a pen and a piece of paper,

A note pad, computer, telephone,

Go do your research and preparation,

Cause one day you’ll need them no more.

By Serina Hartwell

Author of The Hidden Saga

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/author-serina-hartwell.html

If you like my work, tell a friend. Thank you for your support.

Mylo

Mylo

Mylo

All dimples and cheeks,

And smiles and blue eyes,

With your soft blond hair,

That halos your face.

Your little play truck,

That whistles and chimes,

As you crawl with your plates,

Rubbing the ground.

One year has passed,

A toddler before me,

You’re ready to walk,

But not quite yet.

Your birthday cake ready,

The candle is lit,

A big blow delivered,

It’s time for a kiss.

Happy birthday dear Mylo,

You’re as sweet as your cake,

And growing up,

At an incredible pace.

Your presence is calming,

Tender and sweet,

Can’t wait for a cuddle,

The next time we meet.

By Serina Hartwell

Author of The Hidden Saga

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/author-serina-hartwell.html

If you like my work, tell a friend. Thank you for your support.

The History of Hearts

The History Of Hearts

The History Of Hearts

The things she never knew were left

Behind her the past that travelled so quickly

Like a speeding train it sped right by her

Never knowing what his heart wanted to impress

Peace will find him, but not for a while

The young girl on the platform waves goodbye

Her raincoat glistens in the darkness

Caught in the stormy rain

Forever searching to find that girl

She never ventured back

An opportunity lost, two lives changed forever

History, life, tracks, laid to the past

But fate isn’t finished yet, the tale isn’t told

For fate has another card to play

Light shines on the platform of the darkened evening

Once more she stands and waits

To hear his words, his feelings conveyed

Two lives on separate tracks

One story complete, a happy ending relayed

Life’s train delivered her back

For he waited and searched for his girl on the train

To ask her for her hand

He told her all those long lost words

The words she longed to hear

But time doesn’t wait and life keeps moving

A story beckons on

Life needs to keep pursuing adventure

While adventure carries on

He stands on the platform and waves at the woman

Who stands before him now

A smile on their faces, a heart in their hand

They travel off to separate lands

Regret for a day of untold feelings

A longing left to wait

For waiting left them to wonder forever

The history of two hearts

By Serina Hartwell

Author of The Hidden Saga

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/author-serina-hartwell.html

If you like my work, tell a friend. Thank you for your support.

To Escape a Moment

To Escape A Moment

To Escape A Moment

What water drips on my page of questions?

It lies bland and waiting for my hand

To wander through its distant pages

Of lands to be explored

The water drips down my window

Drawing me from my page

What story lies behind each raindrop?

Waiting to be collected

 

I travel, wander, fight and dance

As ink glides across my page

Where will my journey end today?

As water drips across my ink

My pen placed down I sit and wonder

At the place I have journeyed today

My heart is crying with tears I squander

As my journey ends today

Tomorrow will start another journey

Another empty page

Where will I escape to another day?

Another grey rainy day

 

By Serina Hartwell

Author of The Hidden Saga

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/author-serina-hartwell.html

If you like my work, tell a friend. Thank you for your support.