Late Love

He was in his fifties
been alone for sometime.
I often worried about this friend of mine.
A truer southern gentle you couldn't find.
He was tall, dark , handsome and lean.
I'd been tryng sometime to get him to visit me.
Finally he came to New York City.
We did all of the tourist things.
Then one morning we were at the museum.
sitting in front of a lovely Monet.
In walked this late blooming flower.
We noticed her, she had that kind of power.
She was past her prim but still a beauty .
My friend fell so hard I thought he had hit the floor.
He said I could stay here in New York City.
Introduced himself and gave her his card.
They married soon and he was a happy fellow.
Then one year they went to his home.
A couple of years later he died down there.
She buried him down there alone.
Later on I was at the museum.
She was sitting at the Monet alone.
I spoke to her she had tears in her eyes.
She said one day they will carry me home.
Someday soon he will not be alone.