The longbow, the instruction in and of,
was once integral to (I’ve read in books)
a young man’s education.
Knights, old by half my age,
with knotted fingers, eyes faded,
would lead the jacks to the quiet wood,
the wild boar acre, where the yew trees grow,
where centurions and vikings before drew blood,
marking selected barks with chalked x’s.
nickreeves 
I like this poem very much. Was it inspired by a walk in the forest?
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I visited York recently and was interested in the folk etymology of the name. Also, the yew was the tree of choice for long bowmen, so that settled nicely, too.
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Thank you for providing the context for your poem, Nick. I appreciate it.
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A wild, enchanted landscape in a long-forgotten time x
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Yes, spot on, Ingrid. Succeeding settlers found the old place names hard to get their tongue around and so over centuries the names blurred and blended and became more and more enchanting. I was thinking of York and of yew x
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Eboracum-Yorvik-York x
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