Sometime past twelve as I locked up,

I saw a light in a neighbor's shed

Where he kept his car. Thinking he might

For reasons of his own be dead,

Or somewhat to his own surprise,

His house being dark, I went next door

To Neighbor Three and we looked in.

But nothing lay headlong on the floor.

He forgot to turn the carlights off

But not to lock them in. Next day,

Jack Three went over to tell him so.

"Your neighbor Holmes," he tried to say,

Louder than deafness, "came last night-"

"He did! I never knew him well.

He was a fine man. That's too bad."

Back came my friend to me to tell

How I was thought of, having died

Even so briefly to those old ears.

But I, when he was dead, had seen

Myself among the bad-news pioneers

First at his doorbell, sad but strong,

Telling his wife. Bless the old fool,

He beat me that one. He still grubs

In his garden with some old tool.

I watch him stoop more as he works.

May I step in? I'm sorry, but I'm afraid

Something has happened to your-"

The neighborly play I never played.

I do not talk to him, but never did,

Or I'd tell him, but he couldn't hear,

That I'm not dead. Louder. Not dead.

I wouldn't know of it for a year

If he should die as he will asleep.

One capped and sweatered old man less

In one of the back yards back of mine

I may not be told, but I might guess,

Then only by the profuse fall flowers

That will not be there, marigold

And aster, smelling like bone or leaf

Long after the weather has turned cold.