Winter Hunt

I silently invoke Diana’s name
and ask her blessing for the arrow’s path.
Old habits dying hard, I know my aim;
the goddess’ old stag I seek, her wrath

does not deter me and my bow is strung.
He walks among the trees, his crown unbowed.
I’ll take him through his heart, or through his lung.
Diana, do you hear me, I am proud!

I need no benediction for my hunt.
What are those bells of laughter that I hear?
No matter, she can’t make my arrow blunt.
I need a single shot, I’ll need no spear.

You’re dead, old king, the arrow sings in flight
Its peacock feathers startling the snow
The shot rings true. I scream: "It’s done!" as bright
red foam escapes my lips and falls below.

My huntress, you are savoring your kill
Your triumph seeming total as my breath
grows shallow, but know this: it was my will.
And now, no longer yours, I welcome death.

Author notes: Diana (the Roman version of Artemis), virgin goddess of the hunt https://www.worldhistory.org/artemis/