The Archer

She studies her target,
From about 30 feet away.
She listens for the breeze,
That rustles the leaves.
She steadies her arms
And focuses on the red.
The round red target
Which is worth ten points.
Eins, Zwei, Drei,
She counts to herself.
On drei, she let’s go.
The arrow pierces the air.
She exhales and closes her eyes
And waits for the soft
She opens her eyes
And smiles:
Bull’s eye!


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