Derek. A. Sim
Better Late Than Never...
Better Late Than Never
I had to work late; you're home all alone,
you're probably wondering, ‘Why didn't he phone? '
You'll be heating the oven and preparing our meal,
as I slam on the brakes, the tyres all squeal.
You're changing your work clothes for homely attire,
as the car starts to spin, the consequences; dire,
preparing the veg, you uncork the wine,
as the car clips the kerb; and ploughs through a sign.
You're pouring two glasses, expecting me there,
the car's on its roof, there's blood everywhere,
you switch on the telly as your patience wears thin,
the windshield is out… the earth's coming in.
Whilst you wait and worry, ‘Just where can he be? '
The car enters the lake after glancing a tree,
I'm trapped and I'm sinking, with no help at hand,
the car fills with water, the doors… both jammed.
I'm panicking now; thinking, ‘Is this the end? '
My thoughts turn to you… my soulmate, my friend,
I see all the places and faces fleet past,
your troubled expression, remembering our past.
How will you manage as I leave you alone?
To sort out my funeral; to order my stone.
I'm now in my childhood as the pictures wind back,
my last thought is you…
My world is now black.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Better Late Than Never... by Derek. A. Sim )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Harold Hart Crane
(21 July 1899 – 27 April 1932)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(25 November 1890 – 1 April 1918)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967)
(1886 - 1967)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
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