The Wrens, of Ever
( Feather, Light )
^
There,
in this Meadow,
lay the Arrows by the score,
broken, pointless, without Purpose,
as are All, the Tools of War . . .
nEver Again will The Eyes
of Men, stare down those
shafts with Hate, for Bow
and Quiver, lie in A River,
known by name, as Fate . . .
still, they lie, nEver to fly,
to pierce the Heart of son
and lover, nor foul the Air,
in fiery glare, to singe the
tears, of wife and mother . . .
’ Lo, Come What May, is
Here, today, to lay these
Arrows to rest, for in The
Sky, instead will fly, The
Wings, of Love’s
Bequest . . .
Book III, The Diamond ( Third Beginning ) The Ninth DoveTale – The Shield of Courage