A man I did not know apologized

Via note penned in perfect cursive script.

Though his pardon not needed in my eyes,

Explained the reason my book failed to ship.

Delay was quite brief; I scarcely noticed,

Given the relentless Holiday pace.

This man’s spirits were surely his lowest.

In the written words saw his bereft face.

For he and his wife lost their only son,

Wrote that his death was sudden and recent.

I inspect my book and become undone;

Trace pages pensive, eye title silent.

The world’s best book, mine a first edition,

Is Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind.