He was such a nice old man,

Always very smart, with shining shoes

And an upright military air.

I’d wave as I went past his house

And sometimes see him in the village.

I wondered if I should pay a visit

But I didn’t like to interfere.

 

So when the hearse drew up

I thought he’d passed away.

And so he had in a manner of speaking.

For after he buried his wife

He gradually seemed to sag

His face looked drawn and so much older

And he didn’t look so dapper.

That military stride had gone.

But I didn’t like to interfere.

 

And by that winter time he seemed

A different man, the sort that needed Care.

And I wondered how he managed

In the house alone and him so frail.

But I didn’t like to interfere.

 

The just as Spring was forecast

The hearse came back again.

I wish I’d known, I’d have sent some flowers.

But I didn’t like to interfere.

© Gillian Peall

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