Barn Owl On a Blood Moon
At harvest time
Where a white ghost flies
Across a blood red moon
Behind the fields the rolling hills
Are purple, pink and blue
Over a dreaming wheat field
A barn owl patrols
Noiselessly it glides
Over the golden yellow drifts
Suddenly, it flaps its wings
And stares down intently
Below on the soil a startled vole
Sees a white star fall
A squeak and the owl is gone
And with it the limp vole.
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