I cease mid-stride,
detect a noise, I shiver
In my armor, send a
prayer: forgive this
Sin . Before I see, I
hear it, sense its
Sing -ing speed. A flame lands in my
Sting -ing, burning, wood sent
String through the
fortressís stone slits.
Staring at the line, I feel my quiver,
Starting to aim at the thread-thin targetó
Startling even me, I see it hits.
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Daniel Galef would
be pleased to hear them.