A Story Of A Delicate Man

he is the delicate man
he brings an umbrella
even when there is no rain coming
he is the kind
that makes sure everything is in order
his shirt well folded
his shoes well polished
his notes in folders
his table dust free
his anti-allergies ready
until he lost
everything pleasurable in his life

until he ages
and now he goes back to the places
he misses
gathering all the flowers
along the pathways
plucking each one of them
but his nose cannot smell anymore
his hands are shaky
his feet arthritic

too late
too late

the niche is waiting
the epitaph is hungry for
the words
of his regrets.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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