The Lake

The Lake was flat,
nary a breeze.
I waited for you,
on a favorite bench
and idled my time,
to sketch out the scene.
I remembered a time,
when we first met,
down by the shoreline.
A gravel shoreline
was next to the bulkhead.
No sand but a lot of ducks.
Now, as we have aged
and grown out of sort,
should we still meet,
or just do an abort?