Owl

I have lain awake listening for the owl’s cry.

A note that chills

Thrills

Then does die.

One day

This bird of prey

Will carry my soul away,

Or so the superstitious say.

Mice hide

While I, in my pride

Decide

The owl’s erie cry

Signifies that I will die.

The bird has no interest in me

So why can I not be free

Of his cry

That to my window nigh

does rise, then, as suddenly, die?

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