too late

Too Late For Love

Knock on my door, she stood there, the woman
who had caused me untold sorrow, to tell me of
her love for me.

After all this years, lone night and despair, now
that love is a tiresome cliché, how pathetic she
looked in her red raincoat.

I closed the door, walked into my enchanted
garden, where yesterday appears in soft focus,
and played Sibelius for my pet rabbits.