Death's Call Poem by David Lewis Paget

I heard my friend died yesterday,
It knocked me off my feet,
I'd passed the time of day with him
Last Wednesday, on the street,
He'd caught me at an awkward time,
I strained to get away,
He had some awful flu, or cold,
I didn't want to stay.

He phoned me later, chatted on,
I looked up at the sky,
I'm always so impatient with
This one annoying guy,
His jokes were inappropriate,
He laughed at them himself,
When wit was handed out, they left
His sitting on the shelf.

He wrote a bit, of prose and verse,
It wasn't up to scratch,
I'd see him coming up the drive
And flick across the latch,
He'd want me to critique them
And I'd hate to lay him low,
By telling him his talent was
Not up to 'so and so'.

He seemed to think that I was
Someone special in his life,
And tried to join the family
By chatting up my wife,
He really thought I didn't know
But still I kept my peace,
I didn't tell his wife on him,
Or tear him off a piece.

The one thing I will say is that
He always had a smile,
Whenever he caught up with me,
With notepad, book or file,
I've never known one try so hard
For friendship, in despair,
And in return, I'd tell the wife
'Just keep him out my hair! '

But now he's dead, so suddenly,
It's time that I took stock,
The friendship was all his, you see,
And all I did was block.
The fault was not in him, I see,
But in my tardy soul,
For he deserved much more than me,
And now, I'm feeling old.

I wasted all the chances that
He offered me, for free,
To just enjoy a simple soul,
One who looked up to me.
I'm going to miss that little man
And pray his soul to keep,
For now I'd welcome anyone
To talk to, in the street!

29 January 2009