Impossible Poem by Mary Champion

How did I ever have the nerve
to think that I was free to choose?
that I could pick my own future
and secure the prize of your love?

I could surely have predicted
the ending, if I'd used my head,
instead. I gave my heart free rein.
I let it pour out that torrent

of love and longing and desire.
No wonder, when it was over,
my hopes for blissful union
were swept away - drowned in my tears
of desperate disappointment.

And, even after all these years,
I can't discard the memory -
imagining what might have been.
It was always impossible.