The deep Eldwood surrounds his sight and gaze
Still waves of leaves now break across the bark
Of ancient oak and silent stands of elm
The Sol an eye seeks him through shadow dark
Crisply, a crick, a crack, a gasp of twigs
An angel of the wood now stands before
Its sloping form bent down to taste the grass
Ten-point branches reach above its brow a tor
Of massive tines of bone and iron ore
The breaking sky the dappling leaves around
A moment trapped in amber waits for breath
And returning to realíty and sound
Swiftly like thískink his fingers mutely grip
A shaft from quiver, spire pearlescent white
A spine he draws, a silent barb and marks
His aim with single eye and sends to flight
He breaths, the sol just stares, the deer gives way
Another shaft he quickly speeds toward
And ere the beast can flee the deed is done
Two towers reaching up from slumping hide