The Elegant Owl perched on a stoop quietly whispering Who?
It saw a small mouse scurry about Eyes narrowing, it thusly answered...You With a great FLAP of its wings it began to dive to the ground The poor little mouse looking and hungry heard not the slightest of sound As razor sharp talons tore into flesh and lifted it to the air The poor little mouse, all it could think was, "Golly death isn't fair" A mouse of a meal, a delectable treat, thought the owl with blood stained beak Full and not wanting, it resumed its perch on the long high branch Return to its vigil, a deadly totem watching over the forest. The elegant owl always asks who.
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Douglas Karson
I love poetry. Archives
April 2021
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