Yes, this one never met my radar. "Crotchety and old age" - throwing word
rocks at the reaper - go hand and hand. The last drama we will ever know.
Makes getting beating up on the school yard a minor event, I am told, or can
imagine being told - the victims are usually slow to report,or leave it up
to us, as WCW here!
Stephen V
> It's a beautiful poem, Jon, one that I've always loved.
>
> Best
>
> Dave
>
>
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Jon Corelis" <[log in to unmask]>
> To: <[log in to unmask]>
> Sent: Tuesday, March 21, 2006 8:42 PM
> Subject: A corrective to trees
>
>
> The Last Words Of My English Grandmother
>
>
> by William Carlos Williams
>
>
> There were some dirty plates
> and a glass of milk
> beside her on a small table
> near the rank, disheveled bed‹
>
> Wrinkled and nearly blind
> she lay and snored
> rousing with anger in her tones
> to cry for food,
>
> Gimme something to eat‹
> They're starving me‹
> I'm all right I won't go
> to the hospital. No, no, no
>
> Give me something to eat
> Let me take you
> to the hospital, I said
> and after you are well
>
> you can do as you please.
> She smiled, Yes
> you do what you please first
> then I can do what I please‹
>
> Oh, oh, oh! she cried
> as the ambulance men lifted
> her to the stretcher‹
> Is this what you call
>
> making me comfortable?
> By now her mind was clear‹
> Oh you think you're smart
> you young people,
>
> she said, but I'll tell you
> you don't know anything.
> Then we started.
> On the way
>
> we passed a long row
> of elms. She looked at them
> awhile out of
> the ambulance window and said,
>
> What are all those
> fuzzy-looking things out there?
> Trees? Well, I'm tired
> of them and rolled her head away.
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