The Bow Resounds

The bow resounds and hums, hairs strain but hold,
Lets fly the arrow of its song, a hymn
To days gone by, when we were not so old
And so afraid, when all was at a whim
And still before us, nothing yet behind.
The fingers aged but firm the rhythm dance
On strings the bow then whirls grasping to find
The melody of years long past in mindful trance.
There is no solace where all’s done and gone.
Let fly the arrow from the heart of wood
And soar upon the swirling winds of song.
The wood never forgets where once it stood
Upon sunlight dappled hills, split by the maul
Now groans, the bow now snaps, the fingers fall.

meter: iambic pentameter
form: Shakespearean sonnet

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