How Quickly We Do Come to Our Demise

Something I wrote for tenth grade English. A Shakespearean sonnet.

How quickly we do come to our demise,
That all we are shall n’er be seen again.
Though all is left of men shall then despise
The huntress whom to her they all are game.

Her icy bow and quiver do they fear,
Escape for them is never to be found.
Her arrow flies toward them straight and clear,
It hits its mark and never makes a sound.

Though life is short and time goes slipping by,
We pull the hair-like threads to which we hold.
Until they break and soon we in reply,
Shall fall into the deepest winter cold.

And though through death we may eternal be,
There is nothing that is a guarantee.