The Tournament


Screams rocked the shooting grounds

The target was hit through the center…

Straight through with the arrow

His accuracy depended on the wind,

The weather,

Every pulse in his heart.

He took in every element,

With the blink of an eye,

A hitch of breathe,

And released.

He had won the tournament,

The 500 pounds prize.

His band of Merry Men will be happy tonight.