That off school day I remember more than most.
I learned something of you, and death, at once.
Though it took six, empty, years for me to know,
And knowing it made me miss you all the more.

Those six years later, drinking in a Sheffield pub,
You long gone, and me a student there.
I thought of you and understood your tears,
That day I thought you horrible, not terrified,

Of being left alone all afternoon,
Of no importance, but that it was then,
You realised that you'd be dead before the spring,
Crept next from winter's grip. And so my pen,

Can't really represent in words,
The shame I feel for me, as I recall,
That I crept from the house in cowards crawl,
And left a note to tell you on the table in the hall.