Doomed And Left Drooling Poem by Francie Lynch

I wonder if I'm losing my mind.
Who, in their right mind, would think:

'Our world is losing gravity,
And no one can escape...'

I've a sensibility that sees the world:

'There's a smell of beach on you...'

Perhaps I'm too sensitive.
Perhaps I'll end up sitting in a corner,
Drooling verse:

'Poets die, it's sad but true,
And it matters not what their bodies do...'

A million years ago I was one to jeer
At the elderly,
Laugh at jokes in poor taste,
Avoid or ignor the extended empty coffee cup;
I wasn't thinking:
'Charity is never wasted,
Even when refused;
A simple act of selflessness
Cannot be reduced.'

What's to become of me?
Is it infectious?
What would happen if I sneezed at the world?
A pandemic of sensitivity?
Then where would we be!
I just might be doomed, and left drooling.