(for Ben Hatke)
Shot with a recurve, in the dark,
while you were hanging upside down,
the fateful arrow found its mark
and in those innards went to town–
and the hart fell. All due renown
devolves upon you, Facebook-wise.
And I, as bowman just a clown,
search for the language that applies.
Your truths excel our wildest lies
and make our trophies seem like toys.
Manly, you triumph in your tries,
inspiring lots of aging boys.
Let vast applause now fill your ears!
The spirit of the stag, sir, cheers.