The hunterman

 The bowman aims
 his arrow
At the singing
sparrow
His mind doesn't
wander
Nor does it wonder
his aim should
not miss
From the object does
he look
At night he does
read
The verse book on
the bed
He need not look
for food
He need not work
on days
He is rich and
learned
He is bad and
healthy
To go and hunt
is his game
Not to make name
or fame
The bowman missed
his aim
As a beetle hit
his arm
That saved the
little sparrow
From death as
well hallo
                                                                                                                            (written in-1999)