Too early, too late

It was only March

but already bees were on the blossom,

blue tits were nesting,

too many things were happening too soon.

He said he'd heard it on the radio,

The Last Spring - by Grieg,

and I, thinking it a good thing to do,

bought him the CD.

We sat and listened to it together

and he said nothing.

Not thinking, I said it was beautiful

and he said nothing.

The days grew longer

and the time shorter,

the blossom faded

and the blue tits left.

When he died in May

then I knew what it was he didn't say.

First published by Indigo Dreams Publishing