God help those
God help those who should have been helped by me.
And God help one that's sunk to such a plea.
When I think of those I'd left forsaken
On the roads I took and fled untaken—
All who I feigned not to hear and see:
God help them all! And God help me.
It's late. Too late! Ah, but not late enough.
My nights awake in bed are long and rough
When every face I meet sees a man who dared
So little for the Good he can't be one who cared.
And I'm rich in nothing now but years.
But all I'd shared were words, and tears.
God help those who—forget it! Why bother?
His kindness is ours—ours to each other.
When Lear went mad and Gloucester roamed blind,
Those old men saw their kindness to our kind,
And once they'd sent the gods a plea,
Cried: They should have been helped by me.