"The Roving Archer" - by George D. Stout

[Terry_Green]

"The Roving Archer"

by George D. Stout

   

The archer dreams in fitful sleep of cougars, deer and bighorn sheep
Of rocky crag and slippery slide upon a northwest mountainside
His bow of yew is made by hand from trees he gathered from this land
Stored for years and age-cured slow to make the very finest bow

As dawn provides a newborn day the archer's packed and on his way
He follows north along the rill, ascends the ridge and tops the hill
He stops awhile to catch his breath and check the valleys toward the west
Where monster mossbacks take the trail when winter winds begin to wail

But on this sultry summer day the archer seeks a different prey
His cedar shafts with gray goose wing await their turn upon the string
Their blunted noses seek to find a stump, a leaf or clinging vine
When drawn to cheek and loosed at will along the cedar covered hill

The roving hunter has it all and doesn't have to wait for fall
To hear the sound of feathers flow across the riser of his bow
As arrows arc into the blue cast from his lively bow of yew
And hear the thud of well-aimed shaft across the vale along the path

A carefree walk among the spruce brings back exuberance of youth
The joy of watching arrows fly above the trees into the sky
For though we can't turn back the page to live within another age
Our time can be as old or new when roving with a bow of yew