The Second Arrow
THE SECOND ARROW
The first arrow, shot in straight degree,
flew the skies, dipped in filigree.
Her quiver held the arrows, three,
and nailed it sharp, to wing of bee.
It stung and burned incessantly!
Her foe cried out but didn't die,
the second arrow climbed the sky.
That failure kills, is what she'll cry,
her grief dug in with mournful sigh.
The archer doesn't question why!
In pain by anger, not by fear,
the second arrow pierces dear.
The first to wound and slightly veer,
the second's death, and drawn to steer.
On death's white face remains the tear.
Control the bowstring try we must,
The second arrow's failure's thrust.
by Edlynn Nau
Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2015
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