Far Too Late

I hate how they stated the time you finally left this Earth, so cold and careless.
I hate how I thought I'd never miss you, for now you're all alone.
I'll never again feel your warm embrace, smooth palms on the back of my shirt,
for your loving arms lay still in a box, six feet under ground.

I'd like to see that charming smile, and the sunshine
spread slowly in sequence across the age in your face,
and the white whiskers which used to grow there,
the ones that would scratch my cheeks when I gave you Sunday kisses.

I'd enjoy hearing your raspy voice speak histories, one more time,
like a retired college professor without the education,
in tones that amuse and amaze, you always inspired me.
Now I might listen, but I know it's too late for such things.

Is it too late to say I love you? For you once loved me too,
when you lived and brought out the wonder in me, the magic in the world.
I'd give anything for another chance, another life with your wisdom,
for I never said goodbye, but you're six feet under me and now, I miss you.

Author's Note

L.A.J.C.
Rest in peace.