The Dart

I took a twig,bent it to a bow
green sinews joyful to my will
tied with silk of finest weave.
I sought a dart straight and true,
found such beneath my feet,
grey with horse-shoe scars
an ash tree close near by.
Drew the silk of finest weave
cast it to the air,in random flight
I knew not where it went, nor cared.
So, careless of my reasons,
had less for that I found,
that found was more than my content
no arrow, even that at Agincourt
was ever more of worth
Than that straight dart and true.