An archery poem

Impish teeth in impish smiles
Hide impish evils and impish wiles.

Against the imps stands just one man.
It’s Jason versus the impish clan.

Into the fray with bow and arrow,
The path he walks: straight and narrow.

In uncounted numbers, the imps amass
Jeering and slobbering and cursing and crass.

With gnashing of teeth and blood red eyes,
The imps unfurl wings and take to the skies.

Jason surveys the scene, no fear does he show,
Nocks an arrow and raises his bow.

The first arrow loosed with an aim that is true;
The first imp falls; Jason nocks anew.

The arrows come fast. The imps uncowed.
They dodge and weave and shout out loud.

They dive at the man with bow and arrow
Brandishing hammers, screams chilling marrow.

Jason undaunted wields his bow;
Under his arrows fall many a foe.

Still, the numbers start to tell.
In the distance, he hears a death knell.

The imps, in a fury, come ever faster.
They have a sense of impending disaster.

Arrows take out more of the clan.
Still, the imps attack the one, lone man.

Weary of the fight, Jason carries on.
There is no quit when facing wrong.

With strength of soul, mind, and will,
The imps are turned back; destiny fulfilled.