Too Late
For Uncle Sonny (March 1904-January 1996)
Why do we wait until it's too late
to value each minute, each breath that
we take? My words have been said. The
story's been told, yet still I don't
know why we don't value our old.
Although our age, it differed greatly,
seven decades apart, now ten years it's been,
and still as I write, the tears start
to pour. Another day goes by of seeing
you no more. Brother to my grandfather
is all you were. Best friend to a teen
is what you became. Now a parent myself
I have become, but still oh how, my heart
it still aches. Why does it have to be too
late?
Your knowledge, your wisdom, the
laughter we shared, you called me Little
Miss. I wasn't prepared. I didn't even tell
you just how much I cared, so why did I wait? Now it is too late.
Samantha Pon
Copyright ©2007 Samantha Pon
I dedicate this poem to my Uncle Sonny (Charlie Etheridge) whose passing at the age of ninety-two years old brought me to realise just how little time we have with those we love. We should appreciate the people in our lives every second of every day because we don't know when they will be gone, and it may just be too late to tell them how much we care.
