Erm, this, as a poem, is crap. But if you're talking about a poem being something that comes from the heart and all that, this could be the best thing I've ever written. It's about something I think about a lot but have always found extremely difficult to write about. It's about somebody I never got a chance to know the way I should have done. And on the off-chance that the three people who shared this man with me are reading this-nine years later, and I'm still thinking of you, Laura, Cathy and Kelly.

Eight years on, approaching nine
Only one man will be my valentine
It won't be the first time that I've cried
Over the man who never died

Too young to fully bear the pain
Of knowing I wouldn't see him again
He was the man I barely knew at all
But I didn't need to in the long haul

There still are times when I cry
I never got a chance to say goodbye
It didn't affect me too much on that day
But that doesn't matter-now I must pay

Six years old, stupid little girl
Nothing to bother her in the world
The news of the death fresh in my mind
And it's eight years gone, approaching nine

Now, all this time, she doesn't know it hurts
I've told her one time, the last and first
Nobody knows about the times I've cried
Over the father who shouldn't have died