Defeat

by Steve Bunting

I never thought she’d shift the start of dawn 

Or focus pretty eyes upon my soul. 

Our weekly strolls along the Rubicon 

Did set my youthful sights upon a goal: 

To ply those sacred waters, dark as coal, 

And wade through distant reeds with Roman feet. 

But never would she venture past the shoal; 

Her coyness giving way to full retreat. 

Forevermore I’d pine, her image grand defeat.