While we stand here,

Close and wet,

I sense something else is near,

The scent of regret.

I knew I shouldn’t have killed her,

And I’m sorry to say,

You might not concure,

But she’s out of the gray.

She won’t hurt anymore,

She’ll be blissfully glee,

Though it’s hard to ignore,

She’s not completely free.

So, instead of saying sorry,

I’ll take you too,

Under this umbrella,

No one will have a clue.