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
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