His voice was feeble. His clothes, torn. His feet, bare. A man of eighty, he was. One hand on his back. The other holding a cane. People passed. He called. He hoped. None would turn. Grim reality hit. Despair took over. Cursed was he. Today was the day. The grim reaper lurked. Waiting. Enjoying. One last time. He gazed at the heavens. 'One more day', he begged. Out of the blue. Something warm. On his arm. A touch so beautiful. He looked. He saw. A blanket. Some food. A caring face. He cried. He smiled. 'One more day', he whispered.
