Owl

Owl1.jpg

In the dead of night
Beyond the curtain drawn,
Silence gripped the forest like ice.
The Moon spilt light,
Like frost, dusting branch and bough,
Whose trunks stood rigored in mortis,
Berefet of light
Until the dawn would coax
Them back to life,
In the warm embrace of day.
And in the tree outside my window
An Owl sat watching the Moon.
The Moon saw all but understood little,
Whilst the Owl understood all,
But now saw little.
Eventually, it spread its wings
And went in search, again
Of absent mistress,
Its sacred knowledge
Falling to earth,
Like feathers
In the gestating thoughts of my dreams.

© Greg Richards
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