Too Late

TOO LATE Too late you see the no where you have been, The very same as where we always go. no logic in it all, though now and then you've thought there may be more than what we know. The ending of your life, as all must see, Comes quicker than the birth of what you've known With little thought of what you thought could be And less of knowing we all die alone. Too late, I'll say a prayer for you, I guess, to ease your pain of leaving this, our mess. © Ron Wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet