Mario Poem by Paradis Winslet

I once knew a man called Mario,  
A handsome tall middle aged guy,
He was a talk of the village,
A rebel at heart,
A bull of the town,
The only son of his mother,
He loved to dance,
To dance around,
Never on one song,  
Never with one woman,
He loved them all,  
He loved it all,
Even that, that was never his,

He loved life, and he lived big,
In his eyes at least,
He lived the now,
Enjoyed life to its fullest, in his head at least,
He had so many females,  
Of which he called friends,
But none was ever his,
Some he can never recall their names,
But he got away with it,

He sold them words,
Empty promises in-return for their love and youth,
Those poor girls never knew one another,
They all believed they were the "one"
Convinced that they knew the guy who took so much from them,
They knew his caricature,
Not truly the guy they all fell for. 

Mario was a vagabond,
A broken man,
A traveler of life,
Never settling for anything,
In search of fulfillment and contentment,

He was charming,
But poisonous,
A bad influence, a lonely boy,
A snake charmer,  
He lived with no regrets,
Lived under no laws or regulations,

On a morning of 1868,
It was winter, the worst of its kind,
The town of lachenaie was quiet and dark,
No kids in the streets or playing in snow,
The birds flew out of the trees,
And I heard the din of the wind passing through my grand pa's cabin
Poor guy,
Mario fell ill and gasped his last breath,
The word traveled first than the wind,
And here came an endless bundle of strangers,
Among them were, women he knew,
One by one they gathered,
And at last found out that,
None of them was the dead man's lover,
So the women came together,
And gathered a tale to morn their loss hoping to mitigate their pain,
As they gathered around the fire,
One of the women said;
'You can't lose what you never had, nor can you lose what's not yours.'