The Real Man's Sonnet

I am a hunter, my Lord,
Crouching amid the leaves;
Make me not the timid man
Who lack of riches grieves.
I live by my wooden bow,
A quiver and some aim;
Give me not a life of woe
And chasing lifeless game.
I know when the clouds will rain
And when the fruits are sweet;
Teach me not a lot of what
Others as knowledge treat.

Make me brave, give me love and teach me mortal grace
So i may, in my friends' hearts, find my rightful place.