"To seek, to learn, to strike with grace,
Or fade like dust, without a trace.
A mind unsharpened, left to rust,
Is naught but echoes, lost in dust.

The archer knows, the shot must land,
Not wander loose from trembling hand.
For thought, like arrows, must be aimed,
Or else both flight and mind are tamed.

Some fire blind, then curse their fate,
Yet skill is born of time and weight.
The patient hand will find its mark,
While careless souls remain in dark.

To chase the truth, to hone thy sight,
Is forging steel within the night.
But fools who fire with thought unsound,
Are doomed to lose before they're found.

So draw thy bow, let wisdom steer,
Strike swift, strike true, with naught to fear.
Or falter, fade, be cast aside,
A broken arrow, lost in tide."