He brings her out before the crowd
And sets an apple on her head.
She tries to like the joke -- she laughs;
He teases her for turning red.
He is a world-class archer. Once
He split a pea at twenty paces.
This audience is not familiar.
She reads the question on their faces.
Does he mean to hurt her? No;
The entertainer seeks to thrill.
She smiles and she bids him, shoot,
Impress them with your expert skill.
The girl beneath the apple is
A foolish one -- too young, too good.
The darkness that is in the archer
Doesn't scare her as it should.
Oh, she loves him, and it blinds her
To the longing in his eyes.
He isn't aiming for the apple
When he lets the arrow fly.
The photo isn't mine.
I have no idea whose it is.
This is because I Googled "girl+apple" a year ago when
I did the first draft of the preceding poem and didn't make note of the source.
My inner English major is squirming.
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