Too Much, Too Late

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

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

so cross the river of tears 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.