Too Late

He stood there, aghast, looking at her,
Her clothes stained red,
Her face half burnt, as black as coal,
But the half-lips on the other still smiled,
Her eye closed, eyelashes burnt,
Wrapped up in a shroud of white.
Their house caught fire in the midst of night,
When he was away, working far away,
She must have shouted a lot,
‘Cause her throat was all nerved up,
He regretted their fight last night,
And regretted not picking up her call,
She had called him at least six times,
Before she finally texted, “Fine, bye.”

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