Aim straight with that pesky arrow

T’was the eve before the battle And Harold had some qualms, He felt he should inspire his men Before they took up arms. He asked his trusted yeoman To assemble all the men So he could get them fired up Then in their beds by ten. He would get them motivated With excitement they would shiver, With axes, spears and lethal bows And arrows in their quiver. He grabbed the nearest axe man And to him thus he spoke: ‘Throw your mighty weapon, son, Bury it in yon oak.’ The axe man flexed his muscles, The axe spiralled to the tree, Sunk its blade deep in the trunk — Troops roared and clapped with glee. That reaction’s what I’m after, Thought Harold in good cheer, He repeated the performance With a man who had a spear. Now spear and axe together Sunk deep inside the oak, With troops now in a frenzy Our Harold once more spoke. To the dedicated yeoman, He said: ‘This is what I planned Bring forth that scrawny youngster With the bow that’s in his hand.’ The lad was very nervous, Just in his 13th year. Harold said: ‘Now pierce the tree Between the axe and spear.’ The boy let fly the arrow And although no wind or breeze It veered off course and headed out At 45 degrees. Harold said: ‘Try once more, lad, Don’t let this arrow stray.’ But 45 degrees again This time the other way. He felt his men were ready, Stirred up enough to fight, So said: ‘Drink up your Horlicks, lads,’ And wished them all good night. But deep down he was worried, Felt all could end in tears, So once more called his yeoman To tell them of his fears. He said: ‘The youth concerns me, But give the boy a try out. Please just ensure he’s shooting straight — He could have somebody’s eye out.’