Ode to the Owl
Verdant fields submit their hues to the rime,
She hangs in his stead with a soft glow.
Wild things of this land find refuge in the pine
Hoarfrost gathers where the owl goes.
“In silent flight, the night blinds the fright,
from the gliding grasp, clasped from hiding.
Never knowing, but ever showing how
The owl can have sight so keen and
Preened coat of white.”
The owl and winter seem to come as one.
Does my fortune hold so little?
Perhaps my purpose lies in servitude
Offering myself to such a beast
If a beast at all.
Copyright © Christopher Looper | Year Posted 2016
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment