The Arrows in My Quiver

It was my turn to pick up the bow,

and draw the long string and pull back the arrow.

 

Slow and steady, my hands at the ready,

I pulled as best and as hard as I could.

 

The weight of the draw was heavy at times,

and the bow would waiver in many directions.

 

So hard to keep steady with the weight of the string.

 

The arrow would shake and shift all the while,

as the Father would laugh and squint with a smile.

 

What a privilege it was to carry the quiver,

And release my arrows towards the river.

               

                                                                             -Me