Eros draws his bow; his golden arrow flies wide.
While the hunted deer blinks, unsurprisingly doe-eyed.
The indiscretion: such poor form, and quite ill-timed.
It will not be the last mistake made, of this kind.
Icarus raises wings of wax in the art of flight
All this youthful folly, underpinnings of his plight,
Arrogance thus ending in his tragic birthright.
It was not the first mistake made, of this kind.
Blame the crooked shaft, or the light of the sun,
And though tragedy results in catharsis for some,
There are errors in judgement that cant ever be undone.
Mistakes have always been made, since the beginning of time.