Hopelessly Romantic Poem by RIC BASTASA

when he was a child
he made a fan out of those
big leaves

gathered flowers for
mother

and he carried these options
when he became a man

ladies love him
but he never loved anyone

he had become hopelessly
romantic

loving art, loving the world
but never offered himself

and so when he died
no lady has ever shed a tear

flowers wilted
leaves dried, cracked and

turn to bits and pieces
too fine enough to be blown

by all the winds away