An arrow sat in a quiver,
its potential unrealized.
Suddenly it found itself removed
from the only home it had known
and hastily strung on a bow.
After a moment of frantic anticipation
it began to soar through the air at exhilarating speed.
Any excitement was quickly dampened, however,
as the journey seemed to be taking longer than expected,
and the target was unknown.
The arrow flew through the trees,
missing branches by mere inches,
and it began to wonder
and worry
and doubt
and fear.
Perhaps it would be lost,
forgotten, and left alone in the woods
having failed to achieve its purpose.
Just as these thoughts began to rise to a fever pitch
it struck something solid:
a perfect bullseye.
How much wasteful worry could have been avoided
if the arrow had simply trusted the Bowman?
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