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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.