As I make my way up and
down the lines in shades
of green are parted by a
furrowed brow and I
wonder will she cry
when I tell her.

My concentration is marred
and I can think of no
other but still I must
steal a furtive glance as I
wonder will she turn her
rage on me when I tell her.

It is as they say that
time will wait for no man
and now time having run
out has become timeless
and unhurried and every
second counting and so
I wonder will she say
that I took too long
when I tell her.

I have done what I can
but even in moments of
extremity we are not free
and I wonder will she say to
me that he is better off and
now he is free
when I tell her.

Entered for the MAG Poetry Prize 2010