The Owl

Mist covers tangled trees,
white and soft.
Fresh wood smell below and aloft,
as moonlight's glow casts blue rays wide,
and low.

High in a tree,
cast in silver skin and copper free
an angel sits.
He watches me.

Great round eyes,
shine like jewels.
Smooth and deep like a cold black lake.
Sight that takes in every glimmer
and shimmer, and glint.
Ears that track each hint of prey.
Each tiny morsel,
eking out each fast heart day,
in warm earth below,
so far away.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.