The archer

by luckystar3000

  • Poetry

Published March 1, 2012

The sparrow sits
atop a branch
with a grip so tight.
A tiny bird;
it is so small.
An arrow flies
heartlessly
through the sky
hits the sparrow
with a grasp so tight.
Why did it grasp so tight?
Why did the archer
shoot a bird so small?
Pay no mind...
the archer knows
the archers prey.
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The day, which was one of the first of spring, cheered even me by the loveliness of its sunshine and the balminess of the air. I felt emotions of gentleness and pleasure, that had long appeared dead, revive within me. Half surprised by the novelty of these sensations, I allowed myself to be borne away by them, and forgetting my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy.
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein