A poor old man sitting on a park bench

Crying his eyes out with pitiful tears,

Tears that he seemingly just could not quench,

And which he had saved up for years and years.

What was his heartache? - I gingerly asked

What was making him so unhappy, sad,

Why such emotions openly unmasked,

What was the reason that made him feel bad?

With halting words, trying to stem the tide,

With trembling lips he was trying to talk,

Finding hard in a stranger to confide,

He appeared to be shy, withdrawn and gawk.

“I am a very fortunate old man”…

- He began softly with a subdued voice –

“I live with a beautiful young woman

In whose embrace I can truly rejoice.

She gives me solace in my olden years,

She’s hot, passionate, beautiful, clever...

Oh, when she kisses me... nibbles my ears

I am in heaven and never-ever

Had I such sexual satisfaction,     

Before she had moved in to live with me…

The two of us has such interaction…

Greater joy in this life could never be.”

“I cannot fathom why you are crying,

You should be happy for what she can give.

Why such tears, I find it mystifying!”

 “Because I can’t remember where we live…”

© P. J. Oszmann (2003) Illustration in Photoshop

…and I cannot remember why this story brought tears to my eyes!