Intentions Poem by Jerry Pike

He meant to say a thank you, but forgot,
one small neglect of duty sparsely fell,
as seeds that scatter slow, grew into roots,
from out of winter promises cold shell.

He stumbled when, how are you, could have healed,
just friendliness without a gripping bite,
and following a breeze where once were storms,
he entered, speaking silence with his sight.

He never knew because he didn't ask,
and stood his corner, dunced by hat and tongue,
yet still all smiling begged, join in and play,
but life and times were washed and rinsed and wrung.

So there he sat in stupor, lost of friends,
and wondering on the years that people shed,
he meant to ssshhh I love you, under breath,
but sadly no one cared, for he was dead.