Shaking hands
Frail legs
White beard
desperately searched in the rubble for that one piece of crumbled paper, his first poem.
He had now lost his most cherished memory and the person he wrote it for.
A groan made it out of his throat
Tears and sweat fell from tip of his nose.
The wrinkled soul fell on ground
A gasp followed by a breath
his last.
©kmvasa
