A boy
A little skinny boy
He went to the tavern in shame
"My mum"
He wept
"Is weak and stuck in bed,
We have no man
Or bread to win"
"So please,"
He cried
"Please give me half a chance"
The man
His girth
Much greater than his head
He said
Alright
Go back and clean the plates
The
evening
past to dusk
and dusk to day again
and day to weeks
and months and years
And Gaston lost all his fears.
No more a skinny boy of tears
A weeping marionette
Now a lanky matador
A man of hard earned dreams
He washes plates
Still humbly
Though his reasons now have changed
That lovely boy
who loved his mum
Now chases lusty girls
But chase them all
From then to now
They never can be caught
The
chase
it turned to a pursuit
Which then became a quest
Into a journey and then more
akin to a lifelong goal.
And Gaston found his living soul.
Upon his dying bed.
Gaston, he wept
For then he saw
The foolishness of love
What a life he'd lived
For her and them
But not for he and him
Why dance and strut
With pretty skirts
And loving kitchen aprons
When life is for
The living hours
Of experience exalted
Rather than
The simple of thing
Of loving one another
So
He
Died upon that very day
and left nothing but ashes
and pretty girls
with souvenirs
of nights no longer living.
But still that man
The old Gaston
He left one final secret
That money
He had saved away
It went to sweeter purpose
He bought a home
For wayward girls
and ladies with no husbands
They lived their lives
In comforting
Beloved warmer moments
And Gaston though
He's dead and gone
He did something amazing
So
Though
A life is meant
For living it
There is still more
Behind that
A person who then give himself
Over to alturism
Gives up his life
Like martyrs do
So others can be living.
Gaston, a man
A simple man
A creature of desire
He left behind
A legacy
Of women so much finer
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