www.whyville.net Aug 2, 2009 Weekly Issue

Whyville Poet

I'm Sorry

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It was noontime,
and you were outside,
roaming the garden view
like you always do.
But you were gone longer,
blind peregrinator.
A test to my mettle
as unease settled
in, and then came the fear
of what we had all sheered
to one day happen.
You, so small, had stumbled in,
a fell twist of fate,
and I was too late.
No one knew
until I found you,
soaked and struggling,
choked and clinging
to the slab and frond
cornered in the fish pond.
I jumped in after you;
it was all I could do.
Apace, I pulled you out.
Our bodies wept on the grout
an ocean of freshwater,
as you began breathing harder.
Kept you calm in sun's heat,
and mislead by a hopeful beat,
I had to leave,
believed you had retrieved.
But I had been too late.
I'm sorry I was too late.
Because when I returned,
your expression gurned,
and you lay limp on the floor,
lungs flooded and blue, your
stale heart straining,
and a life slowly waning
before my very eyes.
A cruel fate surmised.
Sped down the road,
your crippled body in tow.
Your eyes swelling ajar,
I assured you, "We're not far."
I swore at the traffic.
I'm sorry for the traffic,
I'm sorry I was too late,
and I'm sorry this was your fate.
When the silence took you,
without a sound, I knew.
Fifteen years you've been
in my life, and then
to just go out like a light.
Hair matted, soaked, and white.
Death you could not cheat
'cause my tries failed feat,
but you deserved better,
and these thoughts will fetter
me for some time;
a heart numb from rime,
because I was too late.
I'm sorry my words cannot sate
all that betides.
If only I could turn the tides.
And I'm sorry for this sake.
I'm sorry for my mistake.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.


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