Her tristesse I did not console Nor her loneliness did I accompany To her illness I did not tend Nor her privations alleviate And in her absence I deeply regret That I might have loved her better That I, so busy fighting windmills Might instead have taken tea Chatting away the quiet afternoons Of a vespertine age amidst crumpets And smiles and memorable reminiscences That I might remember all the things She took the time to share with me Of herbs and remedies, guipure and macrame And remember the history of her family, Childhood memories of a world long vanished I turn my face away with distaste Lips tight, eyes closed, heart cold The nethersloped corners of my mouth A symbol of my bitter dejection How I miss this woman now Who gave me everything Whom I barely knew For whom I did so little If only I'd realised The pettiness of my convictions That I had compromised a little more And sat by her side as she wished In congregation of holy service If only! if only! If only I could bring her back To change what was, what is What I've become Such is the nature of regret It sticks in your throat Spotlighting your impotence Souring the perspective She once aimed to kiss my lips But I turned, obeying instinct There is no consolation for me now She is but a picture, unable to kiss A framed memory quiesced on a shelf 11-V-04