fluffy

Too Late

Things left alone often Wither,

those whom love often put on a blinder.

Is it cliche to speak of death as an enemy that steals one so soon?

Is it death that conquers all?

Or is it one that says "Nothing could ever happen"

so they live like that everyday?

Is it silly to say that perhaps one that was fluffy with a tail is loved so much,

once dead would bring a world of tears?

Remember?

Remember when he was sick and I said

"oh he's fine nothing could ever happen."

But then two months later he's sick and dying.

Too late to save, why did you wait?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I actually write this poem about my cat.

I was up one night and he kept coughing, I started crying and wrote this. 

Dont worry, he is still alive healthy and happy.

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