A Quest and a Question

His mom was never sure he was her son.
Perhaps at birth, they gave her the wrong one?
His ways, she really didn’t understand.
Why couldn’t he just be a normal man?

It started when he was a little child.
When boys his age were loud and running wild,
content, he was, surrounded by his toys,
not needing to be with the other boys.

Toy buses were his favorites, a sure bet.
His toys just added to his parents’ debt!
The buses multiplied, each one a prize,
and every one was precious in his eyes.

When he grew up, he thought that he would teach,
but expectations he could never reach.
He drove a bus in summer, then for good,
while still collecting buses when he could.

His mother gave his childhood toys away
without her asking if these things should stay.
He wasn’t happy to find they were gone;
he would replace them slowly, one by one. 

A few years later, bored with driving’s sloth,
he then chose to be a man of the cloth.
He loved his Lord, collecting just as much,
God was in heaven, buses he could touch!

But then he found his most important role:
raising a daughter was his noble goal.
That, and locating all the toys he’d lost.
He’d buy them back, no matter what the cost.

He scoured the rummage sales and antique shows,
looking for rare finds no one even knows.
The quest went on for years, until eBay,
when he could shop at home on any day.

The storage rooms, the basement, the garage,
filled to capacity, collection large,
a treasure trove, a marvel to behold,
a lifetime project, worth its weight in gold!

There was one problem: the man, he got sick.
He never thought that death would be so quick.
While dying, still for buses he would search.
It seems no illness could destroy this urge!

The orphaned buses in his house remain.
His daughter gone, toys give his wife a pain--
reminders of a lifetime buying stuff
without a limit on what is enough.

His legacy, it costs a lot to store.
If he had lived, he would be buying more.
Was it a hobby, or was he obsessed?
We’ll never know, as now he’s laid to rest.