The Time was Wrong
He sits and rests in his easy chair
As the evening shadows fall
And dreams of days of yesteryear,
And the stories he could tell.
And he dreamed of a beautiful lady
With golden tresses long.
With shining eyes and lips of red.
And a voice like an angels song
How many times he recalled the days
When he held her hand so tight.
How he often wished to make her his Bride.
Should he ask? No the time was not right.
He dreamed of her as she laughed and ran
As the sun lit her golden hair
If the time was right, he would ask her then
To be his wife so fair
SO many time he paused and stopped
As his life moved quickly along
He wanted so much to make her his
But he waited. The time was wrong
She has gone to her rest as he sits and dreams
Of the lady he loved so long
Of the one who had wished to be his Bride
Had he asked. But the time was wrong.
Written during a period of melancholy. Past it now without regrets