The Night Hawk

Watching her go by the red wayside paths,
Just outside the city of Yore, I saw
A sight that suggested an aftermath
Was soon to follow, was in store; the paw
Of an enemy reached within the fold
Of his own dark red cloak, blood stained trench coat.
Yet the maid noticed not, she did still hold
Her current course: as one who's on a boat.
Began I to move forward toward this man,
This blood stained fellow, who thought a can can
Of this beauty, this woman deep in love;
But perhaps I was too late, morning dove.
Yet the vulture was foiled by a nighthawk,
Her guardian, her man, her own bedrock.  

                       The Night Hawk, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012