Ode to a Lost Arrow
Unfeigned, I plod through the underbrush in scrupulous search,
Warily placing my feet so as not to disturb your repose.
My fingers still burn from releasing you.
My heart still beats, recalling the thrum of the bowstring,
The zing of your fletchings in flight,
And you, so chivalrous, always going before me.
I listened, but did not hear the satisfying thwack of your impact.
My eye could not confirm the mark was met,
But I knew that you were gone.
Lost in the shadows cast by the towering trees above us.
If only you'd return to me, my arrow.
Thank you for reading! If you're inspired to write a comment, here's a prompt: Which character do you think wrote this poem? Until next time! :)