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Jeanine Messmer Jeanine Messmer
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See me not as the old

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[ Poet's View: Written after many visits with my father-in-law who had Alzhiemer ]

What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
Are you even thinking when looking down upon me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise, uncertain of habit with far-away eyes, who dribbles her food and makes no reply then 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 unresisting or not, lets you do as you will, with bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead, I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For all of my young all rearing young of their own, and I think of the years and that love that I've known;
I'm an old woman now and nature is cruel-'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body is crumpled, grace and vigor depart, there is now a stone where once was a heart, but inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells, and now yet again my battered heart swells.


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