The Archer

SONNET IN THE WIND (The Archer) Hark! What wind doth blow in yonder forest Stirring the spirit of a long dead archer In his endless search for the unwary doe He stealthily lifts his bow – aiming hurriedly His shot misses – his prey flees – frightened Alas! He trudges onward – eyes peering intently A huge buck with antlers like a tree Suddenly looms on the horizon He sniffs – testing the wind for signs Is danger lurking near The twang of the bowstring alerts his keen senses He pivots swiftly – his white tail flashing He bounds away – snorting contemptuously The archer – stirred by the wind – is seeking still God, in His infinite wisdom gave animals instinct Given also to man, but man fails to embrace it