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.
aplaceforpoetry 
Love the second stanza. Wick of life. Thought provoking piece. Nice to see you post
Ah, Audra, so little time – but to make time to put thoughts into action? Much good may come with just a little care and courage…
I needed to hear these words, J. Thank you, I whisper quietly