Sunday, February 26, 2017

I Heard the Owl Call My Name



The owl that you hear
two-hoots
so loud,
calling me,
that it echoes through
the whole town
of Stratford-upon–Avon—he flies
when all are asleep.

While he flies,
no one ever gets sick,
no one is tired
or sorry they were born,
has a face in a frown,
or walks upstairs and down,
all alone and forlorn,
when all are asleep.

The owl flies outside society,
his breath you will not see;
he is hidden deep
inside the bracken inside me,
saving his charges from leers,
brushing the grasses as spears,
eloping with the night wind’s sound
when all are asleep.