What do you see, you, young carers, what do you see?
Are you pondering when you're glancing at me?
A grumpy old Gunner, quite the sight to be seen,
Not too sharp, habits uncertain, eyes lost in a dream.
Now clumsily spilling his food, silent he stays,
Even when you loudly say -- I wish you'd obey.
Seems oblivious to the tasks that you do,
Always misplacing a sock or a shoe.
Is that your perception, is that what you see?
Then widen your gaze, you're not seeing the real me.
Allow me to introduce myself, sitting so still,
Eating at your command, following your will.
I'm a ten-year-old boy with a loving family,
Siblings who adore each other, as it should be.
A sprightly lad of 16, dreaming of love,
Hoping to meet an angel from above.
A groom at 20, my heart skips a beat,
Recalling the vows I swore to keep.
A Gunner at 21, four years of war I've seen,
At 26, I have my own little team.
More years of war, I bravely endure,
At 30, my children grow, our bond so pure.
At 40, my sons have left, but my wife is by my side,
Ensuring I don't drown in the changing tide.
At 50, grandkids play around my knee,
Once again, we're a family, my love and me.
But now, my wife is gone, the future looks bleak,
I shudder at the thought; the outlook is meek.
I'm an old Gunner now, nature's cruel jest,
Making old age appear as a pest.
The body weakens, grace and vigour depart,
Where once was my heart, now lies a stone heart.
But inside this old shell, a young boy resides,
And occasionally, my weary heart takes joyful strides.
I recall the joys, I recall the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years, too few, flown too fast,
And accept the stark truth that nothing can last.
So, open your eyes, you, young carers, see me,
Not a grumpy old Gunner, but the real me.
Look closer, see me, then ponder your destiny,
Wonder where you'll be, when you reach my history.
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 9:37 AM UTC
What do you see, you, young carers, what do you see?
Are you pondering when you're glancing at me?
A grumpy old Gunner, quite the sight to be seen,
Not too sharp, habits uncertain, eyes lost in a dream.
Now clumsily spilling his food, silent he stays,
Even when you loudly say -- I wish you'd obey.
Seems oblivious to the tasks that you do,
Always misplacing a sock or a shoe.
Is that your perception, is that what you see?
Then widen your gaze, you're not seeing the real me.
Allow me to introduce myself, sitting so still,
Eating at your command, following your will.
I'm a ten-year-old boy with a loving family,
Siblings who adore each other, as it should be.
A sprightly lad of 16, dreaming of love,
Hoping to meet an angel from above.
A groom at 20, my heart skips a beat,
Recalling the vows I swore to keep.
A Gunner at 21, four years of war I've seen,
At 26, I have my own little team.
More years of war, I bravely endure,
At 30, my children grow, our bond so pure.
At 40, my sons have left, but my wife is by my side,
Ensuring I don't drown in the changing tide.
At 50, grandkids play around my knee,
Once again, we're a family, my love and me.
But now, my wife is gone, the future looks bleak,
I shudder at the thought; the outlook is meek.
I'm an old Gunner now, nature's cruel jest,
Making old age appear as a pest.
The body weakens, grace and vigour depart,
Where once was my heart, now lies a stone heart.
But inside this old shell, a young boy resides,
And occasionally, my weary heart takes joyful strides.
I recall the joys, I recall the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years, too few, flown too fast,
And accept the stark truth that nothing can last.
So, open your eyes, you, young carers, see me,
Not a grumpy old Gunner, but the real me.
Look closer, see me, then ponder your destiny,
Wonder where you'll be, when you reach my history.
Many versions of this poem have been shared over the years, each offering its own truth. This is my versiontold through the eyes of a Gunner whose life, memories, and quiet dignity remind us to look beyond age and see the person who still lives within.
