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Artemis's Arrows

November 1, 2016
By Anonymous

We wonder when our time will come:
For the moment to be chosen
By her skilled, refined hand.
We wait.
Closely clustered, clinkering a commotion
Within our commodious quiver
We wait.
And like a sudden flash of lightning
Ripping through a thunderstorm,
The time comes.
She is our master
And we her servants.
And we are ready.

© Anonymous

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