Too Late

It was too late to say that he loved her,
Too late to say the unsaid,
Too late to put his arm round her,
Too late, since she was long dead.

The wick of a life isn’t license
to hope for some miracle cure
for dilemmas and bad situations
that lurk behind eyelids and doors.

The saying best later than never,
is a get out he could not append,
when he turned up just after the funeral –
love’s candle snuffed out at the end.

Published by

Julia Dean-Richards

Julia is a writer and performer living in the Shropshire hills. Her writing is a product and expression of the love she has found whilst journeying through the most difficult times of her life.

3 thoughts on “Too Late”

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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