the man with the arow

i wait,
the moon pases behind me like a forever watchfull eye
my head is bowed
when he comes
my face not turned to his
i hide behind my moon beam hair,
waiting, waiting
he seams so amal,
when he is really big
i put my things aside me,
and wait, wait, wait.
he rises his arm,
as if to say,
"Hello, ive missed you"
but isted,
in his risen hand he holds,
an arow, and a bow.
i flich with ecpectation of,
my death to come.
he holds, and holds, and holds.
as if deciding on, if he sould,
let his deathly arow fly,
straight ino my
thumping heart,
thumping, thimping, thumping.
it lasts for hours ,
or it seams,
maybe minuets,
hours to me. he finay,
lets down his bow,
my posture becomes placid,
and he leaves.
he does not come
to tell his tail,
he has left,
and in my still
beating heart,
i know,
he will not return for me.