The Owl

The night has come and clutched the forest scene
With claws of darkness sunk in to the hearts
Of all but those whose senses are most keen,
The few for whom the night is where it starts.
No sound comes forth to break the mystic spell,
So silence serves to seal the somber mood.
For some, though fearful all may not be well,
There is no choice but venture out for food.
Though each may step alert with utmost care
A shadow swift descending from the trees
Would mark that victim feeding unaware
Of silent death that rides the evening breeze.
Too late one learns that fate has taken flight
As talons close to take away the night.

John H. Bidwell