When sun sets and the deepening shadows creep When most birds go to roost under the canopy of the woods It is then I start my nocturnal odyssey, Flying through still air on pinions, foraging food. I have a heart shaped face with eerie round eyes, Positioned like two peridots fixed on a concave disc. My claws are as sharp as razor knives. With gyrating moves and cavorting glides With eyes fixated, searching and observing, With a swish and a swoop, I subdue my prey. I love the golden sunset but hate the blushing morn. My weird hoots rupture the stillness of the night. Send chills down the spine of the young and the old, Many see me as a bird of ill omen, A harbinger of death and bad luck, But some say, ‘there’s nothing foul about the owl’.
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