Too Much, Too Late


the cry in her voice, flowing tear
said, ‘take her hand, simple fool.
help her alleviate her hidden fear
try to warm he heart, left cool.’

her voice recoiled at the slightest touch
yet no retraction of body to withdraw
he wonders, ‘does she love him much?’
nerve of the heart-string obviously raw.

what is it, he wants from this woman?
love, life, happiness, or her permission?
a nod, a glance, a gesture, the can?
he knows it’s more than premonition.

so cross the river of tear that stream
she cries, he cries, too much, too late
it is the ending of their blessed dream.
let go, let God, as He knows their fate.

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