Too Little, Too Late

He doesn’t know
He’s about to lose her.
But she’s already got
One foot outside the door,
Her heart set on leaving.

Too little, too late,
He brings her flowers now
Every day.
Cooks her dinner,
And warms it up
When she comes home late.

But two months ago,
The tables were turned.
She’d call and he
Wouldn’t answer his phone.
Working late nights every night,
Living two separate lives.

Too little, too late,
She found someone else
To ease her pain,
Keep her company every day.
Someone who treasures
Every breath she takes.

But he doesn’t know
It’s too little, too late.
How true when they say,
You don’t know what you have
Until it’s gone.

Empty words and gestures
Won’t erase the pain.
She doesn’t look at him the same,
It’s a mystery to him.
And he doesn’t know
He’s already lost her.

© Lillian F
1-11-13

No, this poem isn’t about me. It’s also not very good. But I really wanted to post a poem…so yeah.