I plucked a flying arrow from the air;
it was aimed for the heart of a child.
I was a hero and a child was saved
but being too clever for my own good
I thought: this couldn't have really happened.
I was saddened not to be the hero,
relieved a child was not terrified.
I saw how the picture might change-
a universal hero, a universal child.
Who supports this ponderous meditation?
Tell me what it means! Perhaps the arrow 
is your life. The thought of it flying past 
is truly terrifying.