Too Late

She stood out in the thunderstorm,
A peculiar kind of girl.
She liked to look at the sky,
And see all the braches twirl.
She liked how she could scream all around,
And never hear her voice.
She knew thunderstorms were dangerous,
But doing this was her choice.
The sky lit up around her,
As a loud noise above her cracked.
She looked up towards the sound,
But all she could see was black.
This crack was not thunder,
But something quite new.
She looked and saw it come,
And wished it was not true.
A sharp branch broke off,
And aimed towards her head.
She had nowhere to run to,
She knew she would soon drop dead.
The branch pierced her heart,
And her veins were soon drained.
Blood trickled down the road,
Almost fitting in with the rain.
This girl wasn’t special,
She was pretty unknown.
She never really spoke,
And was mostly alone.
No one knew her name,
And she liked it that way.
She's all people will talk about now though,
As her body slowly decays.
But what if I told you
This day is yet to come?
Would you do something different
So this would not be done?
What would you tell her
If you had the chance?
If you saw her once again,
Would you give her a second glance?
What if this day never comes,
Would you regret what you said?
Why would it make a difference,
If she were alive or if she were dead?
This day can come tomorrow,
Or when she's eighty-eight.
Nobody ever knows though,
I guess you'll just have to wait.
So if you have something to tell her,
Something you want to say,
Do it while you still have the chance,
Because in a coffin, she may soon lay.