Regrets
The day I die,
I shall be sad no more –
to see the litter in the streets, injustice, through a glass darkly, red;
to feel old and ill and bored;
taste decaff or disappointment;
smell a bit;
or hear reports of war,
a baby cry.
The day I die,
I shall be sad – no more
to hear words or music, raindrops, children’s voices, birdsong;
to smell wood-smoke;
taste adventure and asparagus;
feel your touch, your breasts, your love;
or see the wave-washed shore,
the sea and sky.
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