TOO LATE

It's been above fifty years since my own mother died and I'm still haunted by regrets...

He didn’t know he loved her

Until she couldn’t say,

He wasn’t sure of anything

Until she went away.

He watched her as she vanished

Sitting in her chair,

He saw her self diminish

Until she wasn’t there.

And then, with evening coming

And the day about to end

He knew he’d left unspoken

His feelings for his friend…

He told her, how he told her,

He held her palsied hand,

But knew so deep within him

She couldn’t understand.

And when it was all over

And she was gone away

He finally found the words

He’d tried so hard to say.