Too Late

She sat on an old wooden bench rotted by age and weather. She looked intently at- the whitewashed houses the donkey laden as it clopped on a cobbled street children as they played and laughed- not caring of the past- or the future the golden eagle as she flew home carrying her prey the sun as it beat down blinding her view of the ships at sea women as they talked and threw open windows. now she was free to see the sun to hear the noise- once she sat behind a closed window- in her youth. She turns to the empty space beside her and asks- 'what do you see now that you did not see before we left'? There is no reply.