A man looks back on a friendship he failed to recognize while it mattered. He admits that he treated someone close to him coldly, never offering a friendly sign. Instead, he resented the man, partly because the friend’s habit of praising him forced the speaker to confront his own envy. The praise should have felt generous, but it made him defensive and angry. In his pride, he even wished the man gone. Only after the friend died did he understand what he had lost.
The language is plain and quiet, which makes the regret feel personal and honest. The short lines and repeated “him” sound like a private confession. It is not loud grief; it is the slow ache of realizing too late that someone saw worth in you, and you pushed them away. The title “An Old Story” suggests this kind of regret is familiar, but that does not make it hurt less.