Midnight Rebel

poem about a rebel fleeing... written 30+ years ago...I found it in my teen-age journal.

Across the dark and murky marsh,
the rebel fled, he did.
To pause and cock an ear behind,
the rebel fled, he did.

The night grew long with shadows hung,
through which the rebel fled.
With cat-like stealth, then lordly grace,
the rebel sauntered on.

Around a bend that rebel stepped,
to plunge into a bayonet...
the rebel, he fled no more.