I walk wandering in a wooded glade,

pondering and sitting and wondering my ways.

With no direction, just my pack and my blade,

maybe passing to gaze at a few blue jays.

But none held my attention for very long

as I would wander through forests and streams.

Until I one day, heard that song

that had awoken me out of my sleepless dreams.

Not the kind of song of a flute or a voice,

and not one found in the palaces of kings.

This one was driving by a personal choice,

the song I heard, an arrow sings.

It’s not about what that dart hit,

but about the she who held the bow.

I see her across as on a log I sit.

And inside of me grew, the seeds she’d sow.

Forget that forest, it’s about the arrow!

That inside held, all of her ideals.

These things that grew, deep inside my marrow,

the things that gave freeze to both my heels.

The bow she held of ivory and gold

was nothing compared to her, the bearer.

The grace she shot with the bow she’d hold,

at me she shot with aim without error.

I would bear each rod

and listen to the song they’d make.

And I exclaimed, “This is God!”

Now I never cease to feel the stake.

The birds chirping quiets in the trees.

I see you in field and fall on my knees.

The water in the river ceases to flow.

I never want to see you go.