Farrah, Bronze Huntress
fine, faintly flickering face,
a goddess' gilded grimace;
eyes sharp, slightly squinting,
lips pursed, concentrating;
arms strained, straight, steady,
inch by inch, pulling in the cord,
pushing away at the sturdy bow
that bends so slowly in, arched.
deft fingers firmly clasp,
but ever so lithely guide
the lethal arrow's feather
past her cheek near the ear;
pulls hard, stretches taut
and tense the bare bowstring,
impatiently anticipating,
savoring the inner, aching thrill;
waiting for just the right time,
but waiting forever, it seems;
the prized prey, still out there
feeding freely on freedom still;
her destiny, chiseled, shaped
by her sculptor's whiffling whim,
is to forever take a careful aim,
but never to make the final kill!
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