Poetry Archives

When I was daft (as urchins are),
And full if fairy lore,
I aimed an arrow at a star
And hit—the barnyard door.

I’ve shot at heaps of stars since then,
but always it’s the same—
A barnyard door has mocked me when
Uranus was my aim.

So, I’ll shoot starward as of yore,
Though wide my arrows fall;
I’d rather hit a big barn door
Then never aim at all.